I 


Hilllii  i  filil 


(LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


RUSSIA 

ITS   PEOPLE  AND   ITS   LITERATURE 


RUSSIA 

ITS  PEOPLE  AND  ITS  LITERATURE 

BY 

EMILIA    PARDO    BAZAN 


CraitslateU  from  tfje  Spantsfj 
BY  FANNY  HALE   GARDINER 


CHICAGO 

A.    C.    McCLURG   &   CO. 
1901 


COPYRIGHT, 

BY    A.    C.    McCLURG    AND    CO. 

A.D.  1890. 


TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE. 


EMILIA  PARDO  BAZAN,  the  author  of  the  fol- 
lowing critical  survey  of  Russian  literature,  is  a 
Spanish  woman  of  well-known  literary  attainments  as 
well  as  wealth  and  position.  Her  life  has  been  spent  in 
association  with  men  of  mark,  both  during  frequent  so- 
journs at  Madrid  and  at  home  in  Galicia,  "  the  Switzer- 
land of  Spain,"  from  which  province  her  father  was  a 
deputy  to  Cortes. 

Books  and  libraries  were  almost  her  only  pleasures  in 
childhood,  as  she  was  allowed  few  companions,  and  she 
says  she  could  never  apply  herself  to  music.  By  the  time 
she  was  fourteen  she  had  read  widely  in  history,  sciences, 
poetry,  and  fiction,  excepting  the  works  of  the  French 
romanticists,  Dumas,  George  Sand,  aad  Victor  Hugo, 
which  were  forbidden  fruit  and  were  finally  obtained  and 
enjoyed  as  such.  At  sixteen  she  married  and  went  to 
live  in  Madrid,  where,  amid  the  gayeties  of  the  capital, 
her  love  for  literature  suffered  a  long  eclipse. 

Her  father  was  obliged,  for  political  reasons,  to  leave 
the  country  after  the  abdication  of  Amadeus,  and  she 
accompanied  him  in  a  long  and  to  her  profitable  period 
of  wandering,  during  which  she  learned  French,  Eng- 
lish, and  Italian,  in  order  to  read  the  literatures  of  those 
tongues.  She  also  plunged  deep  into  German  philoso- 
phy, at  first  out  of  curiosity,  because  it  was  then  in  vogue ; 
but  she  confesses  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  it  nevertheless. 

While  she  was  thus  absorbed  in  foreign  tongues  and 
literatures,  she  remained  almost  entirely  ignorant  of  the 


vi  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

new  movement  in  her  own  land,  led  by  Valera,  Galdos, 
and  Alarcon.  The  prostration  which  characterized  the 
reign  of  Isabella  II.  had  been  followed  by  a  rejuvenation 
born  of  the  Revolution  of  1868.  When  this  new  litera- 
ture was  at  last  brought  to  her  notice,  she  read  it  with 
delighted  surprise,  and  was  immediately  struck  by  some- 
thing resembling  the  spirit  of  Cervantes,  Hurtado,  and 
other  Spanish  writers  of  old  renown.  Inspired  by  the 
possibility  of  this  heredity,  she  resolved  to  try  novel- 
writing  herself,  —  a  thought  which  had  never  occurred 
to  her  when  her  idea  of  the  novel  had  been  bounded  by 
the  romantic  limitations  of  Victor  Hugo  and  his  suite. 
But  if  the  novel  might  consist  of  descriptions  of  places 
and  customs  familiar  to  us,  and  studies  of  the  people  we 
see  about  us,  then  she  would  dare  attempt  it.  As  yet, 
however,  no  one  talked  of  realism  or  naturalism  in  Spain ; 
the  tendency  of  Spanish  writers  was  rather  toward  a  res- 
toration of  elegant  Castilian,  and  her  own  first  novel  fol- 
lowed this  line,  although  evidently  inspired  by  the  breath 
of  realism  as  far  as  she  was  then  aware  of  it.  The 
methods  and  objects  of  the  French  realists  became  fully 
manifest  to  her  shortly  afterward ;  for,  being  in  poor  health, 
she  went  to  Vichy,  where  in  hours  of  enforced  leisure  she 
read  for  the  first  time  Balzac,  Flaubert,  Goncourt,  and 
Daudet.  The  result  led  her  to  see  the  importance  of 
their  aims  and  the  force  of  their  art,  to  which  she  added 
the  idea  that  each  country  should  cultivate  its  own  tra- 
dition while  following  the  modern  methods.  These  con- 
victions she  embodied  first  in  a  prologue  to  her  second 
novel,  "  A  Wedding  Journey,"  and  then  in  a  series  of 
articles  published  in  the  "  Epoca  "  at  Madrid,  and  after- 
ward in  Paris  ;  these  she  avers  were  the  first  echoes  in 
Spain  of  the  French  realist  movement. 

All  of  her  novels  have  been  influenced  by  the  school  of 
art  to  which  she  has  devoted  her  attention  and  criticism, 
and  her  study  of  which  has  well  qualified  her  for  the 
essays  contained  in  this  volume.  This  work  on  Russian 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  vii 

literature  was  published  in  1887,  but  prior  to  its  appear- 
ance in  print  the  Senora  de  Bazdn  was  invited  to  read 
selections  from  it  before  the  Ateneo  de  Madrid,  —  an 
honor  never  before  extended  to  a  woman,  I  believe. 

Few  Spanish  women  are  accustomed  to  speaking  in 
public,  and  she  thus  describes  her  own  first  attempt  in 
1885,  when,  during  the  festivities  attending  the  opening 
of  the  first  railway  between  Madrid  and  Coruna,  the  capi- 
tal of  her  native  province,  she  was  asked  to  address  a 
large  audience  invited  to  honor  the  memory  of  a  local 
poet : — 

"  Fearful  of  attempting  so  unusual  a  performance,  as  well 
as  doubtful  of  the  ability  to  make  my  voice  heard  in  a  large 
theatre,  I  took  advantage  of  the  presence  of  my  friend  Emilio 
Castelar  to  read  to  him  my  discourse  and  confide  to  him  my 
fears.  On  the  eve  of  the  performance,  Castelar,  ensconced  in 
an  arm-chair  in  my  library,  puzzled  his  brains  over  the  ques- 
tions whether  I  should  read  standing  or  sitting,  whether  I 
should  hold  my  papers  in  my  hand  or  no,  and  having  an 
artist's  eye  to  the  scenic  effect,  I  think  he  would  have  liked 
to  suggest  that  I  pose  before  the  mirror  I  But  I  was  less 
troubled  about  my  attitude  than  by  the  knowledge  that  Cas- 
telar was  to  speak  also,  and  before  me,  which  would  hardly 
predispose  my  audience  in  my  favor.  .  .  .  The  theatre  was 
crowded  to  suffocation,  but  I  found  that  this  rather  animated 
than  terrified  me.  I  rose  to  read  (for  it  was  finally  decided 
that  I  should  stand),  and  I  cannot  tell  how  thin  and  hard  and 
unsympathetic  my  voice  sounded  in  the  silence.  My  throat 
choked  with  emotion;  but  I  was  scarcely  through  the  first 
paragraph  when  I  heard  at  my  right  hand  the  voice  of  Cas- 
telar, low  and  earnest,  saying  over  and  over  again,  '  Very  good, 
very  good!  That  is  the  tone!  So,  so!'  I  breathed  more 
freely,  speaking  became  easier  to  me ;  and  my  audience,  far 
from  becoming  impatient,  gave  me  an  attention  and  applause 
doubly  grateful  to  one  whose  only  hope  had  been  to  avoid  a 
fiasco.  Castelar  greeted  me  at  the  close  with  a  warm  hand- 
grasp  and  beaming  eyes,  saying,  '  We  ought  to  be  well  satis- 
fied, Emilia;  we  have  achieved  a  notable  and  brilliant  success; 
let  us  be  happy,  then  ! '  " 


viii  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

Probably  the  Sefiora  de  Bazdn  learned  her  lesson  well, 
and  had  no  need  of  the  friendly  admonitions  of  Castelar 
when  she  came  to  address  the  distinguished  audience  at 
the  Ateneo,  for  she  is  said  to  have  "looked  very  much 
at  ease,"  and  to  have  been  very  well  received,  but  a  good 
deal  criticised  afterward,  being  the  first  Spanish  woman 
who  ever  dared  to  read  in  the  Ateneo. 

Turning  from  the  authoress  to  the  work,  I  will  only  add 
that  I  hope  the  American  reader  may  find  it  to  be  what 
it  seemed  to  me  as  I  read  it  in  Spanish,  — an  epitome  of 
a  vast  and  elaborate  subject,  and  a  guide  to  a  clear  path 
through  this  maze  which  without  a  guide  can  hardly 
be  clear  to  any  but  a  profound  student  of  belles-lettres  ; 
for  classicism,  romanticism,  and  realism  are  technical 
terms,  and  the  purpose  of  the  modern  novel  is  only  just 
beginning  to  be  understood  by  even  fairly  intelligent 
readers.  In  the  belief  that  the  interest  awakened  by 
Russian  literature  is  not  ephemeral,  and  that  this  great, 
young,  and  original  people  has  come  upon  the  world's 
stage  with  a  work  to  perform  before  the  world's  eye,  I 
have  translated  this  careful,  critical,  synthetical  study  of 
the  Russian  people  and  literature  for  the  benefit  of  my 
intelligent  countrymen. 

F.  H.  G. 

CHICAGO,  March,  1890. 


CONTENTS. 


HBoofe  I. 

THE  EVOLUTION   OF   RUSSIA. 

PAGE 

I.     Scope  and  Purpose  of  the  Present  Essay  ...  1 1 

II.     The  Russian  Country 17 

III.  The  Russian  Race 26 

IV.  Russian  History      ....     c     ......  41 

V.     The  Russian  Autocracy 49 

VI.    The  Agrarian  Communes 64 

VII.     Social  Classes  in  Russia 83 

VIII.     Russian  Serfdom 95 

HBoofe  II. 

RUSSIAN   NIHILISM  AND   ITS   LITERATURE. 

I.    The  Word  "  Nihilism " 107 

II.     Origin  of  the  Intellectual  Revolution       ....  113 

III.  Woman  and  the  Family    . 117 

IV.  Going  to  the  People 125 

V.     Herzen  and  the  Nihilist  Novel  .........  132 

VI.     The  Reign  of  Terror 140 

VII.     The  Police  and  the  Censor 147 


X  CONTENTS. 

315oofe  III. 

RISE   OF  THE   RUSSIAN   NOVEL. 

PAGE 

I.     The  Beginnings  of  Russian  Literature      ....     155 

II.     Russian  Romanticism. —  The  Lyric  Poets   .     .     .     165 

III.     Russian  Realism  :  Gogol,  its  Founder     ....     178 

Boofe  iv. 

MODERN   RUSSIAN   REALISM. 

I.  Turguenief,  Poet  and  Artist 209 

II.  Gontcharof  and  Oblomovism 233 

III.  Dostoiewsky,  Psychologist  and  Visionary     .     .     .  236 

IV.  Tolstoi,  Nihilist  and  Mystic 25$ 

V.  French  Realism  and  Russian  Realism     ....  274 


THE   EVOLUTION   OF   RUSSIA. 


I. 

SCOPE   AND   PURPOSE   OF  THE  PRESENT   ESSAY. 

THE  idea  of  writing  something  about  Russia,  the 
Russian  novel,  and  Russian  social  conditions  (all  of 
which  bear  an  intimate  relationship  to  one  another), 
occurred  to  me  during  a  sojourn  in  Paris,  where  I 
was  struck  with  the  popularity  and  success  achieved 
by  the  Russian  authors,  and  especially  the  novelists. 
I  remember  that  it  was  in  the  month  of  March,  1885, 
that  the  Russian  novel  "  Crime  and  Punishment," 
by  Dostoi'ewsky,  fell  into  my  hands  and  left  on  my 
mind  a  deep  impression.  Circumstances  prevented 
my  following  up  at  that  time  my  idea  of  literary  work 
on  the  subject ;  but  the  next  winter  I  had  nothing 
more  important  to  do  than  to  make  my  projected 
excursion  into  this  new  realm. 

My  interest  was  quickened  by  all  the  reports  I 
read  of  those  who  had  done  the  same.  They  all 
declared  that  one  branch  of  Russian  literature,  that 
which  flourishes  to-day  in  every  part  of  Europe, 
namely,  the  novel,  has  no  rival  in  any  other  nation, 


12  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

and  that  the  so  much  discussed  tendency  to  the  pre- 
eminence of  truth  in  art,  variously  called  realism,  natu- 
ralism, etc.,  has  existed  in  the  Russian  riovel  ever 
since  the  Romantic  period,  a  full  quarter  of  a  century 
earlier  than  in  France.  I  saw  also  that  the  more  re- 
fined and  select  portion  of  the  Parisian  public,  that  part 
which  boasts  an  educated  and  exacting  taste,  bought 
and  devoured  the  works  of  Turguenief,  Tolstoi,  and 
Dostoi'ewsky  with  as  much  eagerness  as  those  of  Zola, 
Goncourt,  and  Daudet ;  and  it  was  useless  to  ascribe 
this  universal  eagerness  merely  to  a  conspiracy  in- 
tended to  produce  jealousy  and  humiliation  among 
the  masters  and  leaders  of  naturalism  or  realism  in 
France,  even  though  I  may  be  aware  that  such  a 
conspiracy  tacitly  exists,  as  well  as  a  certain  amount 
of  involuntary  jealousy,  which,  in  fact,  even  the  most 
illustrious  artist  is  prone  to  display. 

I  do  not  ignore  the  objections  that  might  be  urged 
against  going  to  foreign  lands  in  search  of  novelties, 
and  I  should  decline  to  face  them  if  Russian  litera- 
ture were  but  one  of  the  many  caprices  of  the  ex- 
hausted Parisian  imagination.  I  know  very  well  that 
the  French  capital  is  a  city  of  novelties,  hungry  for 
extravagances  which  may  entertain  for  a  moment  and 
appease  its  yawning  weariness,  and  that  to  this  neces- 
sity for  diversion  the  decadent  school  (which  has  lately 
had  such  a  revival,  and  claims  the  aberrations  of  the 
Spanish  Gongora  as  its  master),  though  aided  by  some 
talent  and  some  technical  skill,  owes  the  favor  it  en- 
joys. Some  years  ago  I  attended  a  concert  in  Paris, 
where  I  heard  an  orchestra  of  Bohemians,  or  Zingaras, 


PURPOSE   OP    THE   PRESENT  ESSAY.  13 

itinerant  musicians  from  Hungary.  I  was  asked  my 
opinion  of  them  at  the  close,  and  I  frankly  confessed 
that  the  orchestra  sounded  to  me  very  like  a  jangling 
of  mule-bells  or  a  caterwauling;  they  were  only  a 
little  more  tolerable  than  a  street  band  of  my  own 
country  (Spain),  and  only  because  these  were  gypsies 
were  their  scrapings  to  be  endured  at  all.  Literary 
oddities  are,  puffed  and  made  much  of  by  certain 
Parisian  critics  very  much  as  the  Bohemian  musicians 
'were,  as,  for  example,  the  Japanese  novel  "The 
Loyal  Ronins,"  and  certain  romantic  sketches  of 
North  American  origin. 

It  is  but  just,  nevertheless,  to  acknowledge  that  in 
France  the  mania  for  the  exotic  has  a  laudable  aim 
and  obeys  an  instinct  of  equity.  To  know  every- 
thing, to  call  nothing  outlandish,  to  accord  the  high- 
est right  of  human  citizenship,  the  right  of  creating 
their  own  art  and  of  sacrificing  according  to  their 
own  rites  and  customs  on  the  altar  sacred  to  Beauty, 
not  only  to  the  great  nations,  but  to  the  decayed  and 
obscure  ones,  —  this  surely  is  a  generous  act  on  the 
part  of  a  people  endowed  with  directive  energies ;  the 
more  so  as,  in  order  to  do  this,  the  French  have  to 
overcome  a  certain  petulant  vanity  which  naturally 
leads  them  to  consider  themselves  not  merely  the 
first  but  the  only  people. 

But  confining  myself  now  to  Russia,  I  do  not  deny 
that  to  my  curiosity  there  were  added  certain  doubts 
as  to  the  value  of  her  literary  treasures.  During  my 
investigations,  however,  I  have  discovered  that,  apart 
from  the  intrinsic  merit  of  her  famous  authors,  her 


14  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

literature  must  attract  our  attention  because  of  its 
intimate  connections  with  social,  political,  and  his- 
torical problems  which  are  occupying  the  mind  of 
Europe  to-day,  and  are  outcomes  of  the  great 
revolutionary  movement,  unless  it  would  be  more 
correct  to  say  that  they  inspired  and  directed  that 
movement. 

I  take  this  opportunity  to  confess  frankly  that  I 
lack  one  almost  indispensable  qualification  for  my 
task,  —  the  knowledge  of  the  Russian  language.  It 
would  have  been  easy  for  me,  during  my  residence 
in  Paris,  to  acquire  a  smattering  of  it  perhaps,  enough 
to  conceal  my  ignorance  and  to  enable  me  to  read 
some  selections  in  poetry  and  prose  ;  but  not  so  easy 
thus  to  learn  thoroughly  a  language  which  for  intri- 
cacy, splendid  coloring,  and  marvellous  flexibility 
and  harmony  can  only  be  compared,  in  the  opinion 
of  philologists,  to  the  ancient  Greek.  Of  what  use 
then  a  mere  smattering,  which  would  be  insufficient 
to  give  to  my  studies  a  positive  character  and  an 
indisputable  authority?  Two  years  would  not  have 
been  too  long  to  devote  to  such  an  accomplishment, 
and  in  that  length  of  time  new  ideas,  different  lines  of 
thought,  and  unexpected  obstacles  might  perhaps 
arise  ;  the  opportunity  would  be  gone  and  my  plan 
would  have  lost  interest. 

Still,  I  mentioned  my  scruples  on  this  head  to  cer- 
tain competent  persons,  and  they  agreed  that  igno- 
rance of  the  Russian  language,  though  an  ignorance 
scarcely  uncommon,  would  be  an  insuperable  diffi- 
culty if  I  proposed  to  write  a  didactic  treatise  upon 


PURPOSE  OF   THE  PRESENT  ESSAY.  15 

Russian  letters,  instead  of  a  rapid  review  or  a  mere 
sketch  in  the  form  of  a  modest  essay  or  two.  They 
added  that  the  best  Russian  books  were  translated 
into  French  or  German,  and  that  in  these  languages, 
and  also  in  English  and  Italian,  had  been  published 
several  able  and  clever  works  relative  to  Muscovite 
literature  and  institutions,  solid  enough  foundations 
upon  which  to  build  my  efforts. 

It  may  be  said,  and  with  good  reason,  that  if  I 
could  not  learn  the  language  I  might  at  least  have 
made  a  trip  to  Russia,  and  like  Madame  de  Stae'l 
when  she  revealed  to  her  countrymen  the  culture  of 
a  foreign  land,  see  the  places  and  people  with  my 
own  eyes.  But  Russia  is  not  just  around  the  corner, 
and  the  women  of  my  country,  though  not  cow- 
ardly, are  not  accustomed  to  travel  so  intrepidly 
as  for  example  the  women  of  Great  Britain.  I 
have  often  envied  the  good  fortune  of  that  clever 
Scotchman.  Mackenzie  Wallace,  who  has  explored 
the  whole  empire  of  Russia,  ridden  in  sleighs  over 
her  frozen  rivers,  chatted  with  peasants  and  popes, 
slept  beneath  the  tents  of  the  nomadic  tribes,  and 
shared  their  offered  refreshment  of  fermented  mare's- 
milk,  the  only  delicacy  their  patriarchal  hospitality 
afforded.  But  I  acknowledge  my  deficiencies,  and 
can  only  hope  that  some  one  better  qualified  than  I 
may  take  up  and  carry  on  this  imperfect  and  tenta- 
tive attempt. 

I  have  tried  to  supply  from  other  sources  those 
things  which  I  lacked.  Not  only  have  I  read  every- 
thing written  upon  Russia  in  every  language  with 


1 6  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

which  I  am  acquainted,  but  I  have  associated  myself 
with  Russian  writers  and  artists,  and  noted  the  opin- 
ions of  well-informed  persons  (who  often,  however, 
be  it  said  in  parenthesis,  only  served  to  confuse 
me  by  their  differences  and  opposition).  A  good 
part  of  the  books  (a  list  of  which  I  give  at  the 
end)  were  hardly  of  use  to  me,  and  I  read  them 
merely  from  motives  of  literary  honesty.  To  save 
continual  references  I  prefer  to  speak  at  once  and 
now  of  those  which  I  used  principally :  Mackenzie 
Wallace's  work  entitled  "  Russia  "  abounds  in  practi- 
cal insight  and  appreciation ;  Anatole  Leroy-Beaulieu's 
"  The  Empire  of  the  Czars  "  is  a  profound,  exact,  and 
finished  study,  so  acknowledged  even  by  the  Rus- 
sians themselves  in  their  most  just  and  calm  judg- 
ments;  Tikomirov's  "Russia,  Political  and  Social" 
is  clear  and  comprehensible,  though  rather  radical 
and  passionate,  as  might  be  expected  of  the  work 
of  an  exile ;  Melchior  de  Voguie"'s  "  The  Russian 
Novel "  is  a  critical  study  of  incomparable  delicacy, 
though  I  do  not  always  acquiesce  in  his  conclusions. 
From  these  four  books,  to  which  I  would  add  the 
remarkable  "  History  of  Russia "  by  Rambaud,  I 
have  drawn  copious  draughts ;  and  giving  them  this 
mention,  I  may  dispense  with  further  reference  to 
them. 


THE  RUSSIAN  COUNTRY.  I'/ 

II. 

THE   RUSSIAN   COUNTRY. 

IF  we  consider  the  present  state  of  European  na- 
tions, we  shall  observe  a  decided  decline  of  the 
political  fever  which  excited  them  from  about  the 
end  of  the  last  century  to  the  middle  of  the  present 
one.  A  certain  calm,  almost  a  stagnation  with  some, 
has  followed  upon  the  conquest  of  rights  more  craved 
than  appreciated.  The  idea  of  socialistic  reforms  is 
agitated  darkly  and  threateningly  among  the  masses, 
openly  declaring  itself  from  time  to  time  in  strikes 
and  riots ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  the  middle  classes 
almost  everywhere  are  anxious  for  a  long  respite  in 
which  to  enjoy  the  new  social  conditions  created  by 
themselves  and  for  themselves.  The  middle  classes 
represent  the  largest  amount  of  intellectual  force ;  they 
have  withdrawn  voluntarily  (through  egoism,  pru- 
dence, or  indifference)  from  active  political  fields, 
and  renounced  further  efforts  in  the  line  of  experi- 
ment ;  the  arts  and  letters,  which  are  in  the  main 
the  work  of  well-to-do  people,  cry  out  against  this 
withdrawal,  and,  losing  all  social  affinities,  become 
likewise  isolated. 

France  possesses  at  this  moment  that  form  of 
government  for  which  she  yearned  so  long  and  so 
convulsively ;  yet  she  has  not  found  in  it  the  sort  of 
well-being  she  most  desired,  —  that  industrial  and 
economical  prosperity,  that  coveted  satisfaction  and 


1 8  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

compensation  which  should  restore  to  the  Cock  of 
Brenus  his  glittering  spurs  and  scarlet  crest.  She  is 
at  peace,  but  doubtful  of  herself,  always  fearful  of 
having  to  behold  again  the  vandalism  of  the  Com- 
mune and  the  catastrophes  of  the  Prussian  invasion. 
Italy,  united  and  restored,  has  not  regained  her 
place  as  a  European  power,  nor,  in  rising  again 
from  her  glorious  ashes,  can  she  reanimate  the  dust 
of  the  heroes,  the  great  captains  and  the  sublime 
artists,  that  lie  beneath  her  monuments.  And  it  is 
not  only  the  Latin  nations  that  stand  in  more  or  less 
anxious  expectation  of  the  future.  If  France  has 
established  her  much  desired  republic,  and  Italy  has 
accomplished  her  union,  England  also  has  tasted  all 
the  fruits  of  the  parliamentary  system,  has  imparted 
her  vigor  to  magnificent  colonies,  has  succeeded  in 
impressing  her  political  doctrines  and  her  positive 
ideas  of  life  upon  the  whole  continent ;  while  Ger- 
many has  obtained  the  military  supremacy  and  the 
amalgamation  of  the  fatherland  once  dismembered 
by  feudalism,  as  well  as  the  fulfilment  of  the  old 
Teutonic  dream  of  Caesarian  power  and  an  imperial 
throne,  —  a  dream  cherished  since  the  Middle  Ages. 
For  the  Saxon  races  the  hour  of  change  has  sounded 
too ;  in  a  certain  way  they  have  fulfilled  their  desti- 
nies, they  have  accomplished  their  historic  work,  and 
I  think  I  see  them  like  actors  on  the  stage  declaim- 
ing the  closing  words  of  their  roles. 

One  plain  symptom  of  what  I  have  described  seems 
to  me  to  be  the  draining  off  of  their  creative  forces 
in  the  domain  of  art  What  proportion  does  the 


THE  RUSSIAN  COUNTRY.  19 

artistic  energy  of  England  and  Germany  bear  to  their 
political  strength?  None  at  all.  No  names  now- 
adays cross  the  Channel  to  be  put  up  beside  —  I 
will  not  say  those  of  Shakspeare  and  Byron,  but  even 
those  of  Walter  Scott  and  Dickens ;  there  is  no  one 
to  wear  the  mantle  of  the  illustrious  author  of  "  Adam 
Bede,"  who  was  the  incarnation  of  the  moral  sense 
and  temperate  realism  of  her  country,  and  at  the 
same  time  an  eloquent  witness  to  the  extent  and 
limit  allowed  by  these  two  tendencies,  both  of  puri- 
tanic origin,  to  the  laws  of  aesthetics  and  poetry.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  Rhine  the  tree  of  Romance  is 
dry,  though  its  roots  are  buried  in  the  mysterious  sub- 
soil of  legend,  and  beneath  its  branches  pass  and  re- 
pass  the  heroes  of  the  ballads  of  Burger  and  Goethe, 
and  within  its  foliage  are  crystallized  the  brilliant 
dialectics  of  Hegel.  To  put  it  plainly,  Germany  to- 
day produces  nothing  within  herself,  particularly  if  we 
compare  this  to-day  with  the  not  distant  yesterday. 

But  I  would  be  less  general,  and  set  forth  my  idea 
in  a  clearer  manner.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  sacrifice 
on  the  altar  of  my  theme  the  genius  of  all  Europe. 
I  recognize  willingly  that  there  are  in  every  nation 
writers  worthy  of  distinction  and  praise,  and  not  only 
in  nations  of  the  first  rank  but  in  some  also  of  second 
and  third,  as  witness  those  of  Portugal,  Belgium,  Swe- 
den, modern  Greece,  Denmark,  and  even  Roumania, 
which  can  boast  a  queenly  authoress,  extremely  tal- 
ented and  sympathetic.  I  merely  say  —  and  to  the 
intelligent  reader  I  need  give  but  few  reasons  why  — 
that  it  is  easy  to  distinguish  the  period  in  which  a 


20  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

people,  without  being  actually  sterile,  and  even  dis- 
playing relatively  a  certain  fecundity  which  may 
deceive  the  superficial  observer,  yet  ceases  to  pro- 
duce anything  virile  and  genuine,  or  to  possess  vital 
and  creative  powers. 

To  this  general  rule  I  consider  France  an  exception, 
for  she  is  really  the  only  nation  which,  since  the  close 
of  the  Romantic  period,  has  seen  any  spontaneous 
literary  production  great  enough  to  traverse  and  in- 
fluence all  Europe,  —  a  phenomenon  which  cannot  be 
explained  by  the  mere  fact  of  the  general  use  of  the 
French  tongue  and  customs.  It  will  be  understood 
that  I  refer  to  the  rise  and  success  of  Realism,  and 
that  I  speak  of  it  in  a  large  sense,  not  limiting  my 
thoughts  to  the  master  minds,  but  considering  it  in 
its  entirety,  from  its  origin  to  its  newest  ramifications, 
from  its  antecedent  encyclopedists  to  its  latest  echoes, 
the  pessimists,  decadents,  and  other  fanatics.  Looking 
at  what  are  called  French  naturalists  or  realists  in  a 
group,  as  a  unity  which  obliterates  details,  I  cannot 
deny  to  France  the  glory  of  presenting  to  the  world 
in  the  second  half  of  this  century  a  literary  develop- 
ment, which,  even  if  it  carries  within  itself  the 
germs  of  senility  and  decrepitude  (namely,  the  very 
materialism  which  is  its  philosophic  basis,  its  very 
extremes  and  exaggerations,  and  its  erudite  and 
reflective  character,  a  quality  which  however  unap- 
parent  is  nevertheless  perfectly  demonstrable),  yet 
it  shows  also  the  vigor  of  a  renaissance  in  its  valiant 
affirmation  of  artistic  truth,  its  zeal  in  maintaining 
this,  in  the  faith  with  which  it  seeks  this  truth,  and  in 


THE  RUSSIAN  COUNTRY.  21 

the  effectiveness  of  its  occasional  revelations  thereof. 
When  party  feeling  has  somewhat  subsided,  French 
realism  will  receive  due  thanks  for  the  impulse  it  has 
communicated  to  other  peoples ;  not  a  lamentable 
impulse  either,  for  nations  endowed  with  robust 
national  traditions  always  know  how  to  give  form 
and  shape  to  whatever  comes  to  them  from  without, 
and  those  only  will  accept  a  completed  art  who  lack 
the  true  conditions  of  nationality,  even  though  they 
figure  as  States  on  the  map. 

There  are  two  great  peoples  in  the  world  which 
are  not  in  the  same  situation  as  the  Latin  and  Saxon 
nations  of  Europe,  —  two  peoples  which  have  not  yet 
placed  their  stones  in  the  world's  historic  edifice. 
They  are  the  great  transatlantic  republic  and  the  colos- 
sal Sclavonic  empire,  —  the  United  States  and  Russia. 

What  artistic  future  awaits  the  young  North  Ameri- 
can nation?  That  land  of  material  civilization,  free, 
happy,  with  wise  and  practical  institutions,  with  splen- 
did natural  resources,  with  flourishing  commerce  and 
industries,  that  people  so  young  yet  so  vigorous,  has 
acquired  everything  except  the  acclimatization  in  her 
vast  and  fertile  territory  of  the  flower  of  beauty  in  the 
arts  and  letters.  Her  literature,  in  which  such  names 
as  Edgar  Poe  shine  with  a  world-wide  lustre,  is  yet  a 
prolongation  of  the  English  literature,  and  no  more. 
What  would  that  country  not  give  to  see  within  her- 
self the  glorious  promise  of  that  spirit  which  produced 
a  Murillo,  a  Cervantes,  a  Goethe,  or  a  Meyerbeer, 
while  she  covers  with  gold  the  canvases  of  the  me- 
diocre painters  of  Europe  ! 


22  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

But  that  art  and  literature  of  a  national  character 
may  be  spontaneous,  a  people  must  pass  through  two 
epochs,  —  one  in  which,  by  the  process  of  time,  the 
myths  and  heroes  of  earlier  days  assume  a  representa- 
tive character,  and  the  early  creeds  and  aspirations, 
still  undefined  by  reflection,  take  shape  in  popular 
poetry  and  legend ;  the  other  in  which,  after  a  period 
of  learning,  the  people  arises  and  shakes  off  the  outer 
crust  of  artificiality,  and  begins  to  build  conscientiously 
its  own  art  upon  the  basis  of  its  never- forgotten  tra- 
ditions. The  United  States  was  born  full-grown. 
It  never  passed  through  the  cloudland  of  myth  ;  it  is 
utterly  lacking  in  that  sort  of  popular  poetry  which 
to-day  we  call  folk-lore. 

But  when  a  nation  carries  within  itself  this  power- 
ful and  prolific  seed,  sooner  or  later  this  will  sprout. 
A  people  may  be  silent  for  long  years,  for  ages,  but 
at  the  first  rays  of  its  dawning  future  it  will  sing  like 
the  sphinx  of  Egypt.  Russia  is  a  complete  proof  of 
this  truth.  Perhaps  no  other  nation  ever  saw  its 
aesthetic  development  unfold  so  unpromisingly,  so 
cramped  and  so  stunted.  The  stiff  and  unyielding 
garments  of  French  classicism  have  compressed  the 
spirit  of  its  national  literature  almost  to  suffocation  ; 
German  Romanticism,  since  the  beginning  of  this 
century,  has  lorded  it  triumphantly  there  more  than 
in  any  other  land.  But  in  spite  of  so  many  obstacles, 
the  genius  of  Russia  has  made  a  way  for  itself,  and 
to-day  offers  us  a  sight  which  other  nations  can  only 
parallel  in  their  past  history  ;  namely,  the  sudden 
revelation  of  a  national  literature. 


THE  RUSSIAN  COUNTRY.  23 

I  do  not  mean  to  prophesy  for  others  an  irremedi- 
able sterility  or  decadence  ;  I  merely  confine  myself 
to  noting  one  fact :  Russia  is  at  this  moment  the 
only  young  nation  in  Europe,  —  the  last  to  arrive  at 
the  banquet.  The  rest  live  upon  their  past ;  this 
one  sets  out  now  impetuously  to  conquer  the  future. 
Over  Russia  are  passing  at  present  the  hours  of 
dawn,  the  golden  days,  the  times  that  after  a  while 
will  be  called  classic  ;  some  even  of  the  men  whom 
generations  to  come  will  call  their  glorious  ances- 
tors are  living  now.  I  insist  upon  this  view  in  order 
to  explain  the  curiosity  which  this  empire  of  the 
North  has  aroused  in  Europe,  and  also  to  explain 
why  so  much  thoughtful  and  serious  study  and  atten- 
tion is  given  to  Russia  by  all  foreigners  ;  while  every 
book  or  article  on  such  a  country  as  Spain,  for  in- 
stance, is  full  of  so  many  careless  and  superficial 
errors.  That  elegant  and  subtle  author,  Voguie,  in 
writing  of  L£on  Tolstoi,  says  that  this  Russian  novel- 
ist is  so  great  that  he  seems  to  belong  to  the  dead,  — 
meaning  to  express  in  this  wise  the  idea  that  the 
magnitude  of  Tolstoi's  genius  annuls  the  laws  of  tem- 
poral criticism  by  which  we  are  accustomed  to  see 
the  glory  of  our  contemporaries  less  or  more  than  the 
reality.  I  would  apply  Vogui^'s  phrase  to  the  Russian 
national  literature  as  a  whole.  Though  I  see  it  arise 
before  my  very  eyes,  yet  I  view  it  amid  the  halo  of 
prestige  enjoyed  only  by  things  that  have  been. 

There  is  indeed  no  parallel  to  it  anywhere.  The 
modern  phenomenon  of  the  resurrection  of  local 
literatures,  and  the  reappearance  of  forgotten  or 


24  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

amalgamated  races,  bears  no  analogy  to  this  Russian 
movement;  for  apart  from  the  fact  that  the  former 
represents  a  protest  by  race  individualism  against 
dominant  nationalities,  and  the  latter,  on  the  contrary, 
bears  the  seal  of  strong  unity  of  sentiment  (which 
distinguishes  Russia),  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that 
local  literatures  are  reactionary  in  themselves,  —  re- 
storers of  traditions  more  or  less  forgotten  and  lost 
sight  of,  —  while  Russian  literature  is  an  innovation, 
which  accepts  the  past,  not  as  its  ideal,  but  as  its 
root. 

I  have  heard  Emile  Zola  say,  with  his  usual  ingenu- 
ousness, that  between  his  own  spirit  and  that  of  the 
Russian  novel  there  was  something  like  a  haze.  This 
gray  vapor  may  be  the  effect  of  the  northern  mist 
which  is  so  asphyxiating  to  Latin  brains,  or  it  may  be 
owing  to  the  eccentricity  which  sometimes  produces  a 
work  entirely  independent  of  accepted  social  notions 
and  historical  factors.  In  order  to  dissipate  this  haze, 
this  mist,  I  must  devote  a  part  of  this  essay  to  a  study 
of  the  race,  the  natural  conditions,  the  history,  the 
institutions,  the  social  and  political  state  of  Russia, 
especially  to  that  revolutionary  effervescence  known  as 
Nihilism.  Without  such  a  preliminary  study  I  could 
scarcely  give  any  idea  of  this  literary  phenomenon. 

Let  us,  then,  cross  the  Russian  frontier  and  enter 
her  colossal  expanse,  without  being  too  much  abashed 
by  its  size,  which,  says  Humboldt,  is  greater  than  that 
of  the  disk  of  the  full  moon.  Really,  when  we  cast 
our  eyes  upon  the  map,  fancy  refuses  to  believe  or 
to  conceive  that  so  large  an  extent  of  territory  can 


THE  RUSSIAN  COUNTRY.  25 

form  but  one  nation  and  obey  but  one  man.  We  are 
amazed  by  its  geographical  bigness,  and  a  sentiment 
of  respect  involuntarily  enters  the  mind,  together  with 
the  instinctive  conviction  that  God  has  not  modelled 
the  body  of  this  Titan  without  having  in  view  for  it 
some  admirable  historical  destiny  to  be  achieved  by 
the  fine  diplomacy  of  Providence.  Truly  it  is  God's 
handiwork,  as  is  proved  by  its  solid  unity,  —  geo- 
graphical as  well  as  ethnographical,  —  and  its  duration 
as  an  independent  empire.  Russia  is  no  artificial 
conglomeration,  nor  a  federation  of  States,  —  each 
with  distinct  internal  life  and  traditions,  —  the  result 
of  conquest  or  of  the  necessity  of  resistance  to  a  com- 
mon enemy  ;  for  while  the  strife  against  the  nomadic 
Asiatics  may  have  contributed  to  solidify  her  union,  it 
was  Nature  that  predisposed  her  to  a  community  of 
aspirations  and  political  existence.  There  are  islands 
like  Sicily,  peninsulas  like  Spain,  whose  territory, 
though  so  small,  is  far  more  easily  subdivided  than 
Russia,  which  is  intersected  by  no  mountain  chains, 
and  which  is  everywhere  connected  by  rivers,  — 
water-ways  of  communication.  The  vast  surface  of 
Russia  is  like  a  piece  of  cloth  which  unfolds  every- 
where alike,  seamless  and  level.  The  northern  re- 
gions, which  produce  lumber,  cannot  exist  without 
the  southern  regions,  which  produce  cereals ;  the 
two  halves  of  Russia  are  complementary;  there  is 
nowhere  any  conception  of  the  provincialisms  which 
honeycomb  the  Spanish  peninsula ;  and  in  spite  of 
the  imposing  magnitude  of  the  nation,  which  at  first 
glance  would  seem  necessarily  divided  into  different 


20  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

if  not  inimical  provinces,  especially  those  most  dis- 
tant, the  cohesion  is  so  strong  that  all  Russia  con- 
siders herself,  not  so  much  a  state  as  a  family,  subject 
to  the  law  of  a  father ;  and  Father  they  call,  with 
tender  familiarity,  the  Autocrat  of  all  the  Russias. 
Even  to-day  the  name  of  the  famous  Mazeppa,  who 
tried  to  separate  Ukrania  from  Russia,  is  a  term  of 
insult  in  the  Ukranian  dialect,  and  his  name  is  cursed 
in  their  temples.  To  this  sublime  sentiment  Russia 
owes  that  national  independence  which  the  other 
Sclavonic  peoples  have  lost 


III. 

THE   RUSSIAN   RACE. 

IT  is  no  hindrance  to  Muscovite  unity  that  with- 
in it  there  are  two  completely  opposing  elements, 
namely,  the  Germanic  and  the  Semitic.  The  influ- 
ence of  the  Germans  is  about  as  irritating  to  the 
Russians  as  was  that  of  the  Flemings  to  the  Spaniards 
under  Charles  V.  They  are  petted  and  protected 
by  the  government,  especially  in  the  Baltic  provinces, 
all  the  while  that  the  Russians  accuse  them  of  having 
introduced  two  abominations,  —  bureaucracy  and  des- 
potism. But  even  more  aggravating  to  the  Russian 
is  the  Jewish  usurer,  who  since  the  Middle  Ages  has 
fastened  himself  like  a  leach  upon  producer  and  con- 
sumer, and  who,  if  he  does  not  borrow  or  lend,  begs  ; 
and  if  he  does  not  beg,  carries  on  some  suspicious 


THE  RUSSIAN  RACE.  27 

business.  A  nation  within  a  nation,  the  Jews  are 
sometimes  made  the  victims  of  popular  hatred ;  the 
usually  gentle  Russians  sometimes  rise  in  sudden 
wrath,  and  the  newspapers  report  to  us  dreadful 
accounts  of  an  assault  and  murder  of  Hebrews. 

Russian  national  unity  is  not  founded,  however, 
upon  community  of  race  ;  on  the  contrary,  nowhere 
on  the  globe  are  the  races  and  tribes  more  numerous 
than  those  that  have  spread  over  that  illimitable 
territory  like  the  waves  of  the  sea ;  and  as  the  high 
tide  washes  away  the  marks  of  every  previous  wave, 
and  levels  the  sandy  surface,  these  divers  races  have 
gone  on  stratifying,  each  forgetful  of  its  distinct 
origin.  Those  who  study  Russian  ethnography  call 
it  a  chaos,  and  declare  that  at  least  twenty  layers  of 
human  alluvium  exist  in  European  Russia  alone,  with- 
out counting  the  emigrations  of  prehistoric  peoples 
whose  names  are  lost  in  oblivion.  And  yet  from 
these  varied  races  and  origins  —  Scythians,  Sarma- 
tians,  Kelts,  Germans,  Goths,  Tartars,  and  Mongols  — 
has  proceeded  a  most  homogeneous  people,  a  most 
solid  coalescence,  little  given  to  treasuring  up  an- 
cient rights  and  lost  causes.  Geographical  oneness 
has  superseded  ethnographical  variety,  and  created  a 
moral  unity  stronger  than  all  other. 

When  so  many  races  spread  themselves  over  one 
country,  it  becomes  necessary  and  inevitable  that  one 
shall  exercise  sovereignty.  In  Russia  this  directive 
and  dominant  race  was  the  Sclav,  not  because  of 
numerical  superiority,  but  from  a  higher  character 
more  adaptable  to  European  civilization,  and  per- 


28  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

haps  by  virtue  of  its  capability  for  expansion.  Com- 
pare the  ethnographical  maps  of  Russia  in  the  ninth 
and  nineteenth  centuries.  In  the  ninth  the  Sclavs 
occupy  a  spot  which  is  scarcely  a  fifth  part  of  Euro- 
pean Russia ;  in  the  nineteenth  the  spot  has  spread 
like  oil,  covering  two  thirds  of  the  Russian  map. 
And  as  the  Sclavonic  inundation  advances,  the  in- 
ferior races  recede  toward  the  frozen  pole  or  the 
deserts  of  Asia.  When  the  monk  Nestor  wrote  the 
first  account  of  Russia,  the  Sclavs  lived  hedged  in 
by  Lithuanians,  Turks,  and  Finns ;  to-day  they  num- 
ber above  sixty  million  souls. 

Thus  it  is  once  more  demonstrated  that  to  the 
Aryan  race,  naturally  and  without  violence,  is  re- 
served the  pre-eminence  in  modern  civilization. 
A  thousand  years  ago  northern  Russia  was  peopled 
by  Finnish  tribes;  in  still  more  recent  times  the 
Asiatic  fisherman  cast  his  nets  where  now  stands  the 
capital  of  Peter  the  Great ;  and  yet  without  any  war 
of  extermination,  without  any  emigration  of  masses, 
without  persecutions,  or  the  deprivation  of  legal 
privileges,  the  aboriginal  Finns  have  subsided,  have 
been  absorbed,  —  have  become  Russianized,  in  a 
word. 

This  is  not  surprising,  perhaps,  to  us  who  believe 
in  the  absolute  superiority  of  the  Indo-European 
race,  noble,  high-minded,  capable  of  the  loftiest  and 
profoundest  conceptions  possible  to  the  human  in- 
tellect. I  may  say  that  the  Russian  ethnographical 
evolution  may  be  compared  with  that  of  my  own 
country,  if  we  may  trust  recent  and  well-authenti- 


THE  RUSSIAN  RACE.  29 

cated  theories.  The  most  remote  peoples  of  Russia 
were,  like  those  of  Spain,  of  Turanian  origin,  with 
flattish  faces,  and  high  cheek-bones,  speaking  a  soft- 
flowing  language ;  and  to  this  day,  as  in  Spain  also, 
one  may  see  in  some  of  the  physiognomies  clear 
traces  of  the  old  blood  in  spite  of  the  predominance 
of  the  invading  Aryan.  In  Spain,  perhaps,  the  abo- 
riginal Turanian  bequeathed  no  proofs  of  intellectual 
keenness  to  posterity,  and  the  famous  Basque  songs 
and  legends  of  Lelo  and  Altobizkar  may  turn  out  to 
be  merely  clever  modern  tricks  of  imitation ;  but  in 
Russia  the  Finnish  element,  whose  influence  is  yet 
felt,  shows  great  creative  powers.  One  of  the  richest 
popular  literatures  known  to  the  researches  of  folk- 
lore is  the  epic  cycle  of  Finland  called  the  Kalevala, 
which  compares  with  the  Sanscrit  poems  of  old. 

A  Castilian  writer  of  note,  absent  at  present  from 
his  country,  in  writing  to  me  privately  his  opinions 
on  Russia,  said  that  the  civilization  which  we  behold 
has  been  created,  so  far  as  concerns  its  good  points, 
exclusively  by  the  Mediterranean  race  dwelling 
around  that  sea  of  inspiration  which  stretches  from 
the  Pillars  of  Hercules  to  Tyre  and  Sidon ;  that  sea 
which  brought  forth  prophets,  incarnate  gods,  great 
captains  and  navigators,  arch-philosophers,  and  the 
geniuses  of  mankind.  Recently  the  most  celebrated 
of  our  orators  has  stirred  up  in  Paris  some  Greco- 
Latin  manifestations  whose  political  opportuneness  is 
not  to  the  point  just  here,  but  whose  ethnographical 
significance,  seeking  to  divide  Europe  into  northern 
barbarians  and  civilized  Latin  folk, — just  as  hap- 


30  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

pened  at  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  —  is  of  no 
benefit  to  me.  Who  would  listen  without  protest 
nowadays  to  the  famous  saying  that  the  North  has 
given  us  only  iron  and  barbarism,  or  read  tranquilly 
Grenville  Murray's  exclamation  in  an  access  of 
Britannic  patriotism,  "Russia  will  fall  into  a  thou- 
sand pieces,  the  common  fate  of  barbarous  States  !  " 
The  intelligence  of  the  hearers  would  be  offended, 
for  they  would  recall  the  part  played  in  universal 
civilization  by  Germans  and  Saxons,  —  Germany, 
Holland,  England;  but  confining  myself  to  the  sub- 
ject in  hand,  I  cannot  credit  those  who  taunt  the 
Sclav  with  being  a  barbarian,  when  he  is  as  much 
an  Aryan,  a  descendant  of  Japhet,  as  the  Latin, 
descended  as  much  as  he  from  the  sacred  sources 
beside  which  lay  the  cradle  of  humanity,  and  where 
it  first  received  the  revelation  of  the  light.  Know- 
ing their  origin,  are  we  to  judge  the  Sclav  as  the 
Greeks,  the  contemporaries  of  Herodotus,  did  the 
Scythian  and  the  Sarmatian,  relegating  him  forever 
to  the  cold  eternal  night  of  Cimmerian  regions? 

It  is  nothing  remarkable  that,  in  the  varied  for- 
tunes of  this  great  Indo-European  family  of  races, 
if  the  Kelt  came  early  to  the  front,  the  Sclav  came 
correspondingly  late.  Who  can  explain  the  causes 
of  this  diversity  of  destiny  between  the  two  branches 
that  most  resemble  each  other  on  this  great  tree  ? 

In  the  study  of  Russian  writings  I  was  ofttimes 
surprised  at  the  resemblances  in  the  character,  cus- 
toms, and  modes  of  thought  of  the  Russian  mujik  to 
those  of  the  peasants  of  Gallicia  (northern  Spain), 


THE  RUSSIAN  RACE.  31 

my  native  province.  Then  I  read  in  various  authors 
that  the  Sclav  is  more  like  the  Kelt  than  like  his 
other  ancestors,  which  observation  applied  equally 
well  to  my  own  people.  Perhaps  the  Kelt  brought 
to  Spain  and  France  the  first  seeds  of  civilization ; 
but  the  superiority  of  the  Greek  and  the  Latin  oblit- 
erated the  traces  of  that  primitive  culture  which  has 
left  us  no  written  monuments.  More  fortunate  is 
the  Sclav,  the  last  to  put  his  hand  to  the  great  work, 
for  he  is  sure  of  leaving  the  marks  of  his  footprints 
upon  the  sands  of  time. 

It  is  undeniable  that  he  has  come  late  upon  the 
world's  stage,  and  after  the  ages  of  inspiration  and  of 
brilliant  historic  action  have  passed.  It  sometimes 
seems  now  as  though  the  brain  of  the  world  had  lost 
its  freshness  and  plastic  quality,  as  though  every  pos- 
sible phase  of  civilization  had  been  seen  in  Greece  and 
Rome,  the  Middle  Ages  and  the  Renaissance,  and  in 
the  scientific  and  political  development  of  our  own 
day.  But  the  backwardness  of  the  Russian  has  been 
caused  by  no  congenital  inferiority  of  race  ;  his  quick- 
ness and  aptitude  are  apparent,  and  sufficient  to  prove 
it  is  the  rich  treasure  of  popular  poetry  to  be  found 
among  the  peoples  of  Sclav  blood,  —  Servians,  Rus- 
sians, and  Poles.  Such  testimony  is  irrefutable,  and 
is  to  groups  of  peoples  what  articulate  speech  is  to 
the  individual  in  the  zoological  scale.  What  the 
Romanceros  are  to  the  Spaniard,  the  Bilinas  are  to 
the  Russian,  —  an  immense  collection  of  songs  in 
which  the  people  have  immortalized  the  memory  of 
persons  and  events  indelibly  engraved  on  their  imagi- 


J2  THE   EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

nation;  a  copious  spring,  a  living  fountain,  whither 
the  future  bards  of  Russia  must  return  to  drink  of 
originality.  What  the  poem  of  the  Cid  represents  to 
Spain,  and  the  Song  of  Roland  to  France,  is  sym- 
bolized for  the  Russian  by  the  Song  of  the  Tribe  of 
Igor,  the  work  of  some  anonymous  Homer,  —  a  pan- 
theistic epic  impregnated  with  the  abounding  and 
almost  overwhelming  sense  of  realism  which  seems  to 
preponderate  in  the  literary  genius  of  Russia. 

History  —  and  I  use  this  word  in  the  broadest 
sense  known  to  us  to-day  —  thrusts  some  nations  to 
the  fore,  as  the  Latins,  for  example ;  others,  like  the 
Sclavs,  she  holds  back,  restraining  their  instinctive 
efforts  to  make  themselves  heard.  We  are  accus- 
tomed to  say  that  Russia  is  an  Asiatic  country,  and 
that  the  Russian  is  a  Tartar  with  a  thin  coat  of 
European  polish.  The  Mongolian  element  must  cer- 
tainly be  taken  into  account  in  a  study  of  Muscovite 
ethnography,  hi  spite  of  the  supremacy  of  the  Byzan- 
tine and  Tartar  influence,  and  in  order  to  understand 
Russia.  In  the  interior  of  European  Russia  the  ugly 
Kalmuk  is  still  to  be  seen,  and  who  can  say  how 
many  drops  of  Asiatic  blood  run  in  the  veins  of  some 
of  the  most  illustrious  Russian  families  ?  Yet  within 
this  question  of  purity  of  race  lies  a  scientific  and 
social  quid  easily  demonstrable  according  to  recent 
startling  biological  theories,  and  only  the  thought- 
less will  censure  the  old  Spaniards  for  their  efforts 
to  prove  their  blood  free  of  any  taint  of  Moor  or 
Jew.  Russia,  with  her  double  nature  of  European 
and  Asiatic,  seems  like  a  princess  in  a  fairy-tale 


THE  RUSSIAN  RACE.  33 

turned  to  stone  by  a  malignant  sorcerer's  art,  but 
restored  to  her  natural  and  living  form  by  the  magic 
word  of  some  valiant  knight.  Her  face,  her  hands, 
and  her  beautiful  figure  are  already  warm  and  life- 
like, but  her  feet  are  still  immovable  as  stone,  though 
the  damsel  struggles  for  the  fulness  of  reanimation ; 
even  so  Imperial  Russia  strives  to  become  entirely 
European,  to  free  herself  from  Asiatic  inertia  to-day. 

Apart  from  the  undeniable  Asiatic  influence,  we 
must  consider  the  extreme  and  cruel  climate  as 
among  the  causes  of  her  backwardness.  The  young 
civilization  flourishes  under  soft  skies,  beside  blue 
seas  whose  soft  waves  lave  the  limbs  of  the  new-born 
goddess.  Where  Nature  ill-treats  man  he  needs  twice 
the  time  and  labor  to  develop  his  vocation  and  ten- 
dencies. To  us  of  a  more  temperate  zone,  the  de- 
scription of  the  rigorous  and  overpowering  climate  of 
Russia  is  as  full  of  terrors  as  Dante's  Inferno.  The 
formation  of  the  land  only  adds  to  the  trying  condi- 
tions of  the  atmosphere.  Russia  consists  of  a  series 
of  plains  and  table-lands  without  mountains,  without 
seas  or  lakes  worthy  of  the  name,  —  for  those  that 
wash  her  coasts  are  considered  scarcely  navigable. 
The  only  fragments  of  a  mountain  system  are  known 
by  the  generic  and  expressive  term  ural,  meaning  a 
girdle ;  and  in  truth  they  serve  only  to  engirdle  the 
whole  territory.  To  an  inhabitant  of  the  interior  the 
sight  of  a  mountainous  country  is  entirely  novel  and 
surprising.  Almost  all  the  Russian  poets  and  novel- 
ists exiled  to  the  Caucasus  have  found  an  unexpected 
fountain  of  inspiration  in  the  panorama  which  the 

3 


34  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

mountains  afforded  to  their  view.  The  hero  of  Tol- 
stoi's novel  "  The  Cossacks,"  on  arriving  at  the 
Caucasus  for  the  first  time,  and  finding  himself  face 
to  face  with  a  mountain,  stands  mute  and  amazed  at 
its  sublime  beauty. 

"  What  is  that? "  he  asked  the  driver  of  his  cart. 

"  The  mountain,"  is  the  indifferent  reply. 

"  What  a  beautiful  thing  ! "  exclaims  the  traveller, 
filled  with  enthusiasm.  "  Nobody  at  home  can  im- 
agine anything  like  it ! "  And  he  loses  himself  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  snow-covered  crests  rising 
abruptly  above  the  surface  of  the  steppes. 

The  oceans  that  lie  upon  the  boundaries  of  Russia 
send  no  refreshing  breezes  over  her  vast  continental 
expanse,  for  the  White  Sea,  the  Arctic,  the  Baltic, 
and  sometimes  the  Caspian,  are  often  ice-bound, 
while  the  waves  of  the  Sea  of  Asof  are  turbid  with 
the  slime  of  marshes.  Neither  does  Russia  enjoy 
the  mild  influence  of  the  Gulf  Stream,  whose  last  be- 
neficent waves  subside  on  the  shores  of  Scandinavia. 
The  winds  from  the  Arctic  region  sweep  over  the 
whole  surface  unhindered  all  the  winter  long,  while  in 
the  short  summer  the  fiery  breath  of  the  central  Asian 
deserts,  rolling  over  the  treeless  steppes,  bring  an  in- 
tolerable heat  and  a  desolating  drought.  Beyond 
Astrakan  the  mercury  freezes  in  winter  and  bursts  in 
the  summer  sun.  Under  the  rigid  folds  of  her  winter 
shroud  Russia  sleeps  the  sleep  of  death  long  months 
at  a  time,  and  upon  her  lifeless  body  slowly  and 
pauselessly  fall  the  "  white  feathers  "  of  which  He- 
rodotus speaks ;  the  earth  becomes  marble,  the  air  a 


THE  RUSSIAN  RACE.  35 

knife.  A  snow-covered  country  is  a  beautiful  sight 
when  viewed  through  a  stereopticon,  or  from  the 
comfortable  depths  of  a  fur-lined,  swift-gliding  sleigh  ; 
but  snow  is  a  terrible  adversary  to  human  activity. 
If  its  effects  are  not  as  dissipating  as  excessive  heat, 
it  none  the  less  pinches  the  soul  and  paralyzes  the 
body.  In  extreme  climates  man  has  a  hard  time  of 
it,  and  Nature  proves  the  saying  of  Goethe  :  "  It  en- 
velops and  governs  us ;  we  are  incapable  of  com- 
bating it,  and  likewise  incapable  of  eluding  its 
tyrannical  power."  Formidable  in  its  winter  sleep, 
Nature  appears  even  more  despotic  perhaps  in  its 
violent  resurrection,  when  it  breaks  its  icy  bars  and 
passes  at  once  from  lethargy  to  an  almost  fierce  and 
frenzied  life.  In  the  spring-time  Russia  is  an  erup- 
tion, a  surprise ;  the  days  lengthen  with  magic  ra- 
pidity; the  plants  leaf  out,  and  the  fruits  ripen  as 
though  by  enchantment;  night  comes  hardly  at  all, 
but  instead  a  dusky  twilight  falls  over  the  land  ; 
vegetation  runs  wild,  as  though  with  impatience, 
knowing  that  its  season  of  happiness  will  be  short. 
The  great  writer,  Nicola'i  Gogol,  depicts  the  spring- 
time on  the  Russian  steppes  in  the  following  words  : 

"  No  plough  ever  furrowed  the  boundless  undulations 
of  this  wild  vegetation.  Only  the  unbridled  herds  have 
ever  opened  a  path  through  this  impenetrable  wilder- 
ness. The  face  of  earth  is  like  a  sea  of  golden  verdure, 
broken  into  a  thousand  shades.  Among  the  thin,  dry 
branches  of  the  taller  shrubs  climb  the  cornflowers,  — 
blue,  purple,  and  red ;  the  broom  lifts  its  pyramid  of 
yellow  flowers  ;  tufts  of  white  clover  dot  the  dark  earth, 


36  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

and  beneath  their  poor  shade  glides  the  agile  partridge 
with  outstretched  neck.  The  chattering  of  birds  fills 
the  air ;  the  sparrow-hawk  hangs  motionless  overhead, 
or  beats  the  air  with  the  tips  of  his  wings,  or  swoops 
upon  his  prey  with  searching  eyes.  At  a  distance  one 
hears  the  sharp  cry  of  a  flock  of  wild  duck,  hovering 
like  a  dark  cloud  over  some  lake  lost  or  unseen  in  the 
immensity  of  the  plain.  The  prairie-gull  rises  with  a 
rhythmic  movement,  bathing  his  shining  plumage  in  the 
blue  air  ;  now  he  is  a  mere  speck  in  the  distance,  once 
more  he  glistens  white  and  brilliant  in  the  rays  of  the 
sun,  and  then  disappears.  When  evening  begins  to 
fall,  the  steppes  become  quite  still ;  their  whole  breadth 
burns  under  the  last  ardent  beams ;  it  darkens  quickly, 
and  the  long  shadows  cover  the  ground  like  a  dark  pall 
of  dull  and  equal  green.  Then  the  vapors  thicken;. each 
flower,  each  herb,  exhales  its  aroma,  and  all  the  plain  is 
steeped  in  perfume.  The  crickets  chirp  vigorously. 
...  At  night  the  stars  look  down  upon  the  sleeping 
Cossack,  who,  if  he  opens  his  eyes,  will  see  the  steppes 
illuminated  with  sparks  of  light,  —  the  fireflies.  Some- 
times the  dark  depths  of  the  sky  are  lighted  up  by  fires 
among  the  dry  reeds  that  line  the  banks  of  the  little 
streams  and  lakes,  and  long  lines  of  swans,  flying 
northward  and  disclosed  to  view  by  this  weird  light, 
seem  like  bands  of  red  crossing  the  sky." 

Do  we  not  seem  to  see  in  this  description  the 
growth  of  this  impetuous,  ardent,  spasmodic  life, 
goaded  on  to  quick  maturity  by  the  knowledge  of 
its  own  brevity? 

Without  entirely  accepting  Montesquieu's  theory 
as  to  climate,  it  is  safe  to  allow  that  it  contains  a  large 
share  of  truth.  It  is  indubitable  that  the  influence 


THE  RUSSIAN  RACE.  37 

of  climate  is  to  put  conditions  to  man's  artistic  de- 
velopment by  forcing  him  to  keep  his  gaze  fixed 
upon  the  phenomena  of  Nature  and  the  alternation 
and  contrast  of  seasons,  and  helps  to  develop  in  him 
a  fine  pictorial  sense  of  landscape,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  Russian  writers.  In  our  temperate  zone  we  may 
live  in  relative  independence  of  the  outside  world, 
and  almost  insensible  to  the  transition  from  summer 
to  winter.  We  do  not  have  to  battle  with  the  at- 
mosphere; we  breathe  it,  we  float  in  it.  Perhaps 
for  this  reason  good  word-painters  of  landscape  are 
few  in  our  (Spanish)  literature,  and  our  descriptive 
poets  content  themselves  with  stale  and  regular 
phrases  about  the  aurora  and  the  sunset.  But  lay- 
ing aside  this  parallel,  which  perhaps  errs  in  being 
over-subtle,  I  will  say  that  I  agree  with  those  who 
ascribe  to  the  Russian  climate  a  marked  influence  in 
the  evolution  of  Russian  character,  institutions,  and 
history. 

Enveloped  in  snow  and  beaten  by  the  north  wind, 
the  Sclav  wages  an  interminable  battle ;  he  builds 
him  a  light  sleigh  by  whose  aid  he  subjects  the  frozen 
rivers  to  his  service ;  he  strips  the  animals  of  their 
soft  skins  for  his  own  covering ;  to  accustom  his  body 
to  the  violent  transitions  and  changes  of  temperature, 
he  steams  himself  in  hot  vapors,  showers  himself  with 
cold  water,  and  then  lashes  himself  with  a  whip  of 
cords,  and  if  he  feels  a  treacherous  languor  in  his 
blood  he  rubs  and  rolls  his  body  in  the  snow,  seek- 
ing health  and  stimulus  from  his  very  enemy.  But 
strong  as  is  his  power  of  reaction  and  moral  energy, 


38  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

put  this  man,  overwrought  and  wearied,  beside  a 
genial  fire,  in  the  silence  of  the  tightly  closed  isba, 
or  hut,  within  his  reach  a  jug  of  kvass  or  wodka  (a 
terrible  fire-water  more  burning  than  any  other),  and, 
obeying  the  urgency  of  the  long  and  cruel  cold,  he 
drinks  himself  into  a  drunken  sleep,  his  senses  be- 
come blunted,  and  his  brain  is  overcome  with  drowsi- 
ness. Do  not  exact  of  him  the  persevering  activity 
of  the  German,  nor  talk  to  him  of  the  public  life 
which  is  adapted  to  the  Latin  mind.  Who  can  im- 
agine a  forum,  an  oracle,  a  tribune,  in  Russia?  Study 
the  effect  of  an  inclement  sky  upon  a  Southern  mind 
in  the  Elegies  of  Ovid  banished  to  the  Pontus ;  his 
reiterated  laments  inspire  a  profound  pity,  like  the 
piping  of  a  sick  bird  cowering  in  the  harsh  wind. 
The  poet's  greatest  dread  is  that  his  bones  may  lie 
under  the  earth  of  Sarmatia;  he,  the  Latin  volup- 
tuary, son  of  a  race  that  desires  for  its  dead  that  the 
earth  may  lie  lightly  on  them,  shrinks  in  anticipation 
of  the  cold  beyond  the  tomb,  when  he  thinks  that 
his  remains  may  one  day  be  covered  by  that  icy  soil. 

The  Sclav  is  the  victim  of  his  climate,  which  relaxes 
his  fibres  and  clouds  his  spirit.  The  Sclav,  say  those 
who  know  him  well,  lacks  tenacity,  firmness ;  he  is 
flexible  and  variable  in  his  impressions ;  as  easily 
enthusiastic  as  indifferent ;  fluctuating  between  oppo- 
site conclusions ;  quick  to  assimilate  foreign  ideas ; 
as  quick  to  rid  himself  of  them  ;  inclined  to  dreamy 
indolence  and  silent  reveries ;  given  to  extremes  of 
exaltation  and  abasement ;  in  fact,  much  resembling 
the  climate  to  which  he  has  to  adapt  himself.  It 


THE  RUSSIAN  RACE.  39 

needs  not  be  said  that  this  description,  and  any  other 
which  pretends  to  sum  up  the  characteristics  of  the 
whole  people,  must  have  numerous  exceptions,  not 
only  in  individual  cases  but  in  whole  groups  within 
the  Russian  nationality  :  the  Southerner  will  be  more 
lively  and  vivacious ;  the  Muscovite  (those  properly 
answering  to  that  name)  more  dignified  and  stable ; 
the  Finlander,  serious  and  industrious,  like  the  Swiss, 
to  whose  position  his  own  is  somewhat  analogous. 
There  is  in  every  nation  a  psychical  as  well  as  physi- 
cal type  to  which  the  rank  and  file  more  or  less  cor- 
respond, and  it  is  only  upon  a  close  scrutiny  that 
one  notices  differences.  The  influence  of  the  Tropics 
upon  the  human  race  has  never  been  denied ;  we  are 
forced  to  admit  the  influence  of  the  Pole  also,  which, 
while  beneficial  in  those  lands  not  too  close  upon  it, 
invigorating  both  bodies  and  souls  and  producing 
those  chaste  and  robust  barbarians  who  were  the 
regenerators  of  the  effete  Empire,  yet  too  close,  it 
destroys,  it  annihilates.  Who  can  doubt  the  effect  of 
the  snow  upon  the  Russian  character  when  it  is 
stated  upon  the  authority  of  positive  data  and  statis- 
tics that  the  vice  of  drunkenness  increases  in  direct 
proportion  to  the  degrees  of  latitude?  There  is  a 
fine  Russian  novel,  "Oblomoff"  (of  which  I  shall 
speak  again  later),  which  is  more  instructive  than 
a  long  dissertation.  The  apathy,  the  distinctively 
Russian  enervation  of  the  hero,  puts  the  languor  of 
the  most  indolent  Creole  quite  in  the  shade,  with 
the  difference  that  in  the  case  of  the  Sclav  brain 
and  imagination  are  at  work,  and  his  body,  if  well 


40  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

wrapped,  is  able  to  enjoy  the  air  of  a  not  unendurable 
temperature. 

Not  only  the  rigors  of  climate  but  the  aspect  of 
the  outside  world  has  a  marked  influence  on  char- 
acter. Ovid  in  exile  lamented  having  to  live  where 
the  fields  produced  neither  fruits  nor  sweet  grapes ; 
he  might  have  added,  had  he  lived  in  Russia,  where 
the  fields  are  all  alike,  where  the  eye  encounters  no 
variety  to  attract  and  please  it.  Castile  is  flat  and 
monotonous  like  Russia,  but  there  the  sky  compen- 
sates for  the  nakedness  of  the  earth,  and  one  cannot 
be  sad  beneath  that  canopy  of  turquoise  blue.  In 
Russia  the  dark  firmament  seems  a  leaden  vault  in- 
stead of  a  silken  canopy,  and  oppresses  the  breast. 
The  only  things  to  diversify  the  immense  expanse  of 
earth  are  the  great  rivers  and  the  broad  belts  or 
zones  of  the  land,  which  may  be  divided  into  the 
northern,  covered  with  forests  ;  the  black  lands,  which 
have  been  the  granary  of  the  empire  from  time  im- 
memorial ;  the  arable  steppes,  so  beautifully  described 
by  Gogol,  like  the  American  prairies,  the  land  of  the 
wild  horses  of  the  Russian  heroic  age ;  and  lastly, 
the  sandy  steppes,  sterile  deserts  only  inhabited  by 
the  nomadic  shepherds  and  their  flocks.  Through- 
out this  vast  body  four  large  arteries  convey  the  life- 
giving  waters :  the  Dnieper  which  brought  to  Russia 
the  culture  of  old  Byzantium;  the  Neva,  beside 
which  sits  the  capital  of  its  modern  civilization ;  the 
Don,  legendary  and  romantic ;  and  the  Volga,  the 
great  Mother  Volga,  the  marvellous  river,  whose 
waters  produce  the  most  delicious  fish  in  the  world. 


RUSSIAN  HISTORY.  41 

Without  the  advantage  of  these  rivers,  whose  abun- 
dance of  waters  is  almost  comparable  to  an  ocean, 
the  plains  of  Russia  would  be  uninhabitable.  Land, 
land  everywhere,  an  ocean  of  land,  a  uniformity  of 
soil,  no  rocks,  no  hills,  so  that  stone  is  almost  un- 
known in  Russia.  St.  Petersburg  was  the  first  city 
not  built  entirely  of  wood,  and  it  is  an  axiom  that 
Russian  houses,  as  a  rule,  burn  once  in  seven  years. 
This  dulness  and  desolation  of  Nature's  aspect  must 
of  course  influence  brain  and  imagination,  and  con- 
sequently must  be  reflected  in  the  literature,  where 
melancholy  predominates  even  in  satire,  and  whence 
is  derived  a  tendency  to  pessimism  and  a  sort  of 
religious  devotion  tinged  with  misery  and  sadness. 
Indolence,  fatalism,  inconstancy,  —  these  are  the 
defects  of  Russian  character;  resignation,  patience, 
kindness,  tolerance,  humility,  its  better  qualities.  Its 
passive  resignation  may  be  readily  transformed  into 
heroism  ;  and  Count  Leon  Tolstoi,  in  his  military  nar- 
rative of  the  "  Siege  of  Sevastopol,"  and  his  novel 
"  War  and  Peace,"  studies  and  portrays  in  a  wonder- 
ful way  these  traits  of  the  national  soul. 


IV. 

RUSSIAN   HISTORY. 

HISTORY  has  been  for  Russia  as  inclement  and  hos- 
tile as  Nature.  A  cursory  glance  will  suffice  to  show 
this,  and  it  is  foreign  to  my  purpose  to  devote  more 
than  slight  attention  to  it. 


42  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

The  Greeks,  the  civilizers  of  the  world,  brought 
their  culture  to  Colchis  and  became  acquainted  with 
the  very  southernmost  parts  of  Russia  known  as  Sar- 
matia  and  Scythia.  Herodotus  has  left  us  minute 
descriptions  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Cimmerian  plains, 
their  ways,  customs,  religions,  and  superstitions,  dis- 
tinguishing between  the  industrious  Scythians  who 
produce  and  sell  grain,  and  the  nomadic  Scythians, 
the  Cossacks,  who,  depending  on  their  pastures, 
neither  sow  nor  work.  The  Sarmatian  region  was 
invaded  and  subjugated  by  the  northern  Sclavs,  who 
in  turn  were  conquered  by  the  Goths,  these  by  the 
Huns,  and  finally,  upon  the  same  field,  Huns,  Alans, 
and  Bulgarians  fought  one  another  for  the  mastery. 
In  this  first  confused  period  there  is  no  historical 
outline  of  the  Russia  that  was  to  be.  Her  real  his- 
tory begins  in  a,  to  us,  strange  event,  whose  authen- 
ticity historical  criticism  may  question,  but  which  is 
the  basis  of  all  tradition  concerning  the  origin  of  Rus- 
sian institutions  ;  I  mean  the  famous  message  sent  by 
the  Sclavs  to  those  Norman  or  Scandinavian  princes, 
those  daring  adventurers,  the  Vikings  supposedly 
( but  it  matters  not),  saying  to  this  effect,  more  or 
less :  "  Our  land  is  broad  and  fertile,  but  there  is 
neither  law  nor  justice  within  it ;  come  and  possess 
it  and  govern  it." 

Upon  the  foundation  provided  by  this  strange  pro- 
ceeding many  very  original  theories  and  philosophical 
conclusions  have  been  built  concerning  Russian  his- 
tory ;  and  the  partisans  of  autocracy  and  the  ancient 
order  of  things  consider  it  a  sure  evidence  that  Rus- 


RUSSIAN  HISTORY.  43 

sia  was  destined  by  Heaven  to  acknowledge  an 
absolute  power  of  foreign  derivation,  and  to  bow 
voluntarily  to  its  saving  yoke.  Whether  the  trium- 
phal rulers  were  Normans  or  Scandinavians  or  the 
original  Sclavs,  it  is  certain  that  with  their  appearance 
on  the  scene  as  the  element  of  military  strength  and 
of  disciplined  organization,  the  history  of  Russia 
begins :  the  date  of  this  foreign  admixture  (which 
would  be  for  us  a  day  of  mourning  and  shame)  Russia 
to-day  celebrates  as  a  glorious  millennium.  Heroic 
Russia  came  into  being  with  the  Varangian  or  Viking 
chieftains,  and  it  is  that  age  which  provides  the  sub- 
ject of  the  bilinas ;  it  was  the  ninth  century  after 
Christ,  at  the  very  moment  when  the  epic  and  ro- 
mantic life  of  Spain  awoke  and  followed  in  the  train 
of  the  Cid. 

With  the  establishment  of  order  and  good  govern- 
ment among  the  Sclavs,  Rurik  founded  the  nation, 
as  certainly  as  he  founded  later  the  legendary  city  of 
Novgorod,  and  his  brother  and  successor,  Olaf,  that 
of  Kief,  mother  of  all  the  Russian  cities.  It  fell  to 
Rurik's  race  also  to  give  the  signal  for  that  secular 
resistance  which  even  to-day  Russia  maintains  toward 
her  perpetual  enemy,  Constantinople ;  the  Russian 
fleets  descended  the  Dnieper  to  the  Byzantine  seas  to 
perish  again  and  again  under  the  Greek  fire.  Russia 
received  also  from  this  same  Byzantium,  against 
which  her  arms  are  ever  turned,  the  Christian  religion, 
which  was  delivered  to  Olga  by  Constantine  Porfiro- 
genitus.  Who  shall  say  what  a  change  there  might 
have  been  over  the  face  of  the  earth  if  the  Oriental 


44  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

Sclavs  had  received  their  religion  from  Rome,  like  the 
Poles? 

Olga  was  the  Saint  Clotilde  of  Russia ;  in  Vladi- 
mir we  see  her  Clodovicus.  He  was  a  sensuous  and 
sanguinary  barbarian,  though  at  times  troubled  with 
religious  anxieties,  who  at  the  beginning  of  his  reign 
upheld  paganism  and  revived  the  worship  of  idols, 
at  whose  feet  he  sacrificed  the  Christians.  But  his 
darkened  conscience  was  tortured  nevertheless  by 
aspirations  toward  a  higher  moral  light,  and  he 
opened  a  discussion  on  the  subject  of  the  best  re- 
ligion known  to  mankind.  He  dismissed  Mahome- 
tanism  because  it  forbade  the  use  of  the  red  wine 
which  rejoiceth  the  heart  of  man ;  Judaism  because  its 
adherents  were  wanderers  over  the  face  of  the  earth ; 
Catholicism  because  it  was  not  sufficiently  splendid 
and  imposing.  His  childish  and  primitive  mind 
was  taken  with  the  Asiatic  splendors  of  the  church 
of  Constantinople,  and  being  already  espoused  to  the 
sister  of  the  Byzantine  emperor,  he*  returned  to  his 
own  country  bringing  its  priests  with  him,  cast  his  old 
idols  into  the  river,  and  compelled  his  astonished 
vassals  to  plunge  into  the  same  waters  and  receive 
baptism  perforce,  while  the  divinity  he  venerated  but 
yesterday  was  beaten,  smeared  with  blood,  and  buried 
ignominiously.  Happy  the  people  upon  whom  the 
gospel  has  not  been  forced  by  a  cruel  tyrant,  at  the 
point  of  the  sword  and  under  threats  of  torture,  but 
to  whom  it  has  been  preached  by  a  humble  apostle, 
the  brother  of  innumerable  martyrs  and  saintly  con- 
fessors !  In  the  twelfth  century,  when  Christianity 


RUSSIAN  HISTORY.  45 

inspired  us  to  reconquer  our  country,  Russia,  more 
than  half  pagan,  wept  for  her  idols,  and  seemed  to 
see  them  rising  from  the  depths  of  the  river  de- 
manding adoration.  From  this  corrupt  Byzantine 
source  Russia  derived  her  second  civilization,  count- 
ing as  the  first  that  proceeding  from  the  coloniza- 
tion and  commerce  of  the  Greeks,  as  related  by 
Herodotus.  The  dream  of  Yaroslaus,  the  Russian 
Charlemagne,  was  to  make  his  capital,  Kief,  a  rival 
and  imitator  of  Byzantium.  From  Byzantium  came 
the  arts,  customs,  and  ideas ;  and  it  seemed  the  fate 
of  the  Sclav  race  to  get  the  pattern  for  its  intel- 
lectual life  from  abroad. 

Some  Russian  thinkers  deem  it  advantageous  for 
their  country  to  have  received  its  Christianity  from 
Byzantium,  and  consider  it  an  element  of  greater  in- 
dependence that  the  national  Church  never  arrogated 
to  itself  the  supremacy  and  dominion  over  the  State. 
Let  such  advantages  be  judged  by  the  rule  of  autoc- 
racy and  the  nullity  of  the  Greek  Church.  The 
Catholic  nations,  being  educated  in  a  more  spiritual 
and  exalted  idea  of  liberty,  have  never  allowed  that 
the  monarch  could  be  lord  of  the  human  conscience, 
and  have  never  known  that  monstrous  confusion  of 
attributes  which  makes  the  sovereign  absolute  dic- 
tator of  souls.  The  Crusade,  that  fecund  movement 
which  was  the  work  of  Rome,  never  spread  over 
Russia;  and  when  the  Sclavs  fell  under  the  Tartar 
yoke,  the  rest  of  Europe  left  her  to  her  fate.  Russia's 
choice  of  this  branch  of  the  Christian  religion  was 
fatal  to  her  dominion  over  other  kindred  Sclavs ;  for 


46  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA, 

it  embittered  her  rivalry  with  the  Poles,  and  raised  an 
insurmountable  barrier  between  Russia  and  European 
civilization  which  was  inseparably  intertwined  with 
the  Catholic  faith  even  in  such  phenomena  as  the 
Renaissance,  which  seems  at  first  glance  laic  and 
pagan. 

Nevertheless,  so  much  of  Christianity  as  fell  to 
Russia  through  the  accepted  channel  sufficed  to  open 
to  her  the  doors  of  the  civilized  world,  and  to  rouse 
her  from  the  torpid  sleep  of  the  Oriental.  It  gave 
her  the  rational  and  proper  form  of  family  life  as  in- 
dicated by  monogamy,  whose  early  adoption  is  one  of 
the  highest  and  most  distinguishing  marks  of  the  Aryan 
race  ;  and  instead  of  the  savage  chieftain  surrounded 
by  his  fierce  vassals  always  ready  for  rebellion  and 
bloodshedding,  it  gave  the  idea  of  a  monarch  who 
lives  as  God's  vicar  upon  the  earth,  the  living  incar- 
nation of  law  and  order,  —  an  idea  which,  in  times 
of  anarchy  and  confusion,  served  to  constitute  the 
State  and  establish  it  upon  a  firm  basis.  Lastly, 
Russia  owes  to  Christianity  her  ecclesiastical  litera- 
ture, the  fount  and  origin  of  literary  culture  through- 
out Europe. 

In  the  thirteenth  century —  that  bright  and  lumi- 
nous age,  the  time  of  Saint  Thomas,  of  Saint  Francis 
of  Assisi,  of  Dante,  of  Saint  Ferdinand  —  Russia  was 
suddenly  invaded  by  the  Mongols,  and,  like  locusts  in 
a  corn-field,  those  hideous  and  demoniacal  foes  fell 
upon  her  and  made  all  Christendom  tremble,  so  that 
the  French  historian  Joinville  records  it  as  a  sign  of 
the  coming  of  Antichrist.  "  For  our  sins  the  un- 


RUSSIAN  HISTORY.  47 

known  nations  covered  our  land,"  say  the  Russian 
chroniclers.  Genghis  Khan,  after  subduing  all  Asia, 
drew  around  him  an  immense  number  of  tribes,  and 
fell  upon  Russia  with  irresistible  force,  sowing  the 
land  with  skulls  as  the  flower  of  the  field  sows  it  with 
seeds,  and  compelling  the  once  free  and  wealthy 
native  Boyars  to  bring  grist  to  the  mill  and  serve 
their  conquerors  as  slaves.  The  Russian  towns  and 
princes  performed  miracles  of  heroism,  but  in  vain. 
The  Tartar  hordes,  let  loose  upon  those  vast  plains 
where  their  horses  found  abundant  pasture,  rolled 
over  the  land  like  an  inundation.  In  a  more  varied 
country,  more  densely  populated  and  with  better 
communication,  the  Tartars  would  have  been  beaten 
back,  as  they  were  from  Moravia.  Again  Nature's 
hand  was  upon  the  destinies  of  Russia;  the  topo- 
graphical conditions  laid  her  under  the  power  of  the 
Golden  Horde. 

This  great  misfortune  not  only  isolated  Russia  from 
the  Occident  and  left  her  under  Asiatic  sway,  but  it 
also  subjugated  her  to  the  growing  autocracy  of  the 
Muscovite  princes  who  were  becoming  formidable 
oppressors  of  their  subjects,  and  they  in  turn  were 
victims,  tributaries,  and  vassals  of  the  great  Khans. 
So  the  invasion  came  to  exercise  a  decisive  influence 
upon  the  institutions  of  the  future  empire,  pernicious 
in  consequence  of  the  abnormal  development  allowed 
to  monarchical  authority,  and  beneficent  inasmuch  as 
it  aided  forcibly  in  the  formation  of  the  nationality. 
At  the  time  of  the  Mongol  irruption  Russia  was  com- 
posed of  various  independent  principalities  governed 


48  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

by  the  descendants  of  Rurik ;  the  necessity  of  oppos- 
ing the  invader  demonstrated  the  necessity  also  of 
uniting  all  under  one  sceptre. 

Continually  chafing  at  the  bit,  dissimulating  and 
temporizing  with  the  enemy  by  means  of  clever  dip- 
lomatic envoys,  the  princes  slowly  cemented  their 
power  and  prepared  the  land  for  a  homogeneous 
state,  until  one  day  the  chivalrous  Donskoi,  the  victor 
at  the  battle  of  the  Don,  opened  the  era  of  reconquest, 
exclaiming  in  the  exuberance  of  his  first  triumph  over 
the  Tartars,  "  Their  day  is  past,  and  God  is  with  us  !  " 
But  Russia's  evil  star  awoke  one  of  the  greatest  cap- 
tains named  in  history,  Tamerlane,  who  ruined  the 
work  begun  by  Donskoi,  and  toward  the  end  of  the 
fourteenth  century  once  more  laid  the  Muscovite 
people  under  subjection. 

At  the  meeting  of  the  Council  of  Florence,  when 
the  Greek  Emperor  John  Paleologos  agreed  to  the 
reunion  of  the  two  churches,  the  prince  of  Moscow, 
Basil  the  Blind,  showed  himself  blind  of  soul  as  well 
as  of  eye,  in  obstinately  opposing  such  a  union,  thus 
cutting  off  Russia  again  from  the  Occident.  When 
the  Turks  took  Constantinople  and  consummated 
the  fall  of  the  Byzantine  empire,  Moscow  became  the 
capital  of  the  Greek  world,  the  last  bulwark  of  the 
schismatic  church,  the  asylum  of  the  remains  of  a 
depraved  and  perishing  organism,  of  the  senile  de- 
cadence of  the  last  of  the  Caesars. 


THE  RUSSIAN  AUTOCRACY.  49 

V. 

THE   RUSSIAN  AUTOCRACY. 

SUCH  was  the  sad  situation  in  Russia  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  period  of  European  Renaissance,  out  of 
which  grew  the  modern  age  which  was  to  provide 
the  remedy  for  her  ills  through  her  own  tyrants. 
For  without  intending  a  paradox,  I  will  say  that 
tyranny  is  the  liberator  of  Russia.  Twice  these 
tyrants  who  have  forced  life  into  her,  who  have  im- 
pelled her  toward  the  future,  have  been  called  The 
Terrible,  —  Ivan  III.,  the  uniter  of  the  provinces,  he 
whose  very  look  made  the  women  faint,  and  Ivan 
IV.,  the  first  to  use  the  title  of  Czar.  Both  these 
despots  cross  the  stage  of  history  like  spectres  called 
up  by  a  nightmare  :  the  former  morose,  dissimulating, 
and  hypocritical,  like  Louis  XL  of  France,  whom  he 
resembles ;  the  latter  demented,  fanatical,  epileptic, 
and  hot-tempered,  clutching  his  iron  pike  in  hand, 
with  which  he  transfixed  Russia  as  one  may  transfix 
a  fluttering  insect  with  a  pin.  But  these  tyrants, 
gifted  and  guided  by  a  saving  instinct,  created  the 
nation.  Ivan  III.  instituted  the  succession  to  the 
throne,  thus  suppressing  the  hurtful  practice  of  parti- 
tion among  brothers,  and  it  was  he  who  finally  broke 
the  yoke  of  the  Mongols.  Ivan  IV.  did  more  yet ; 
he  achieved  the  actual  separation  of  Europe  from 
Asia,  put  down  the  anarchy  of  the  nobles,  and  taught 
4 


50  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

them  submission  to  law ;  and  not  content  with  this, 
he  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  scanty  literature 
of  his  time,  and  while  he  widened  the  domains  of 
Russia,  he  protected  within  her  borders  the  establish- 
ment of  the  press,  until  then  persecuted  as  sacri- 
legious. It  is  difficult  to  think  what  would  have 
become  of  the  Russian  nation  without  her  great 
tyrants.  Therefore  it  is  that  the  memory  of  Ivan  IV. 
still  lives  in  the  popular  imagination,  and  the  Terrible 
Czar,  like  Pedro  the  Cruel  of  Spain,  is  neither  for- 
gotten nor  abhorred. 

The  consolidation  of  the  autocratic  idea  is  easily 
understood  in  the  light  of  these  historic  figures.  No 
wonder  that  the  people  accepted  it,  from  a  spirit  of 
self-preservation,  since  it  was  despotism  that  sus- 
tained them,  that  formed  them,  so  to  speak.  It  is 
folly  to  consider  the  institutions  of  a  nation  as  though 
they  were  extraneous  to  it,  fruit  of  an  individual  will 
or  of  a  single  event ;  society  obeys  laws  as  exact  as 
those  which  regulate  the  courses  of  the  stars,  and  the 
historian  must  recognize  and  fix  them. 

The  autocracy  and  the  unity  of  Russia  were  con- 
solidated together  by  the  genius  of  Ivan  III.,  who 
made  their  emblem  the  double-headed  eagle,  and 
by  Ivan  IV.,  who  sacrificed  to  them  a  sea  of  blood. 
The  municipal  autonomies  and  the  petty  independent 
princes  frowned,  but  Russia  became  a  true  nation ; 
at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  brilliant 
age  of  the  monarchical  principle,  no  European  sov- 
ereign could  boast  of  being  so  thoroughly  obeyed  as 
the  sovereign  prince  of  Moscow. 


THE  RUSSIAN  AUTOCRACY.  51 

The  radical  concept  of  omnipotent  power,  not 
tempered  as  in  the  West  by  the  humanity  of  Catholi- 
cism, at  once  rushed  headlong  to  oppression  and 
slavery.  The  ambitious  regent  Boris  Godonoff  was 
not  long  in  attaching  the  serfs  to  the  soil,  and  upon 
the  heels  of  this  unscrupulous  act  followed  the  dark 
and  bloody  days  of  the  false  Demetrii,  in  which  the 
serf,  irritated  by  the  burden  of  his  chains,  welcomed, 
in  every  adventurer,  in  every  impostor,  a  Messiah 
come  to  redeem  him.  Then  the  Poles,  the  eternal 
enemies  of  Russia,  seized  the  Kremlin,  the  Swedes 
threatened  to  overcome  her,  and  the  nation  seemed 
ready  to  perish  had  it  not  been  for  the  heroism  of  a 
butcher  and  a  prince ;  a  suggestive  example  of  the 
saving  strength  which  at  supreme  moments  rises  up 
in  every  nation. 

But  one  more  providential  tyrant  was  needed,  the 
greatest  of  all,  the  most  extraordinary  man  of  Russia's 
history,  of  the  house  of  Romanoff,  successor  to  the  ex- 
tinct dynasty  of  the  Terrible  Ivans.  "  Terrible  "  might 
also  be  applied  to  the  name  of  the  imperial  carpenter 
whose  character  and  destiny  are  not  unlike  those  of 
Ivan  IV.  Both  were  precocious  in  intellect,  both 
were  self-educated,  and  both  cooled  their  hot  youth 
in  the  hard  school  of  abandonment.  Out  of  it  came 
Peter  the  Great,  determined  at  all  costs  to  remodel 
his  gigantic  empire. 

Herodotus  relates  how  the  young  Anacarsis,  on 
returning  from  foreign  lands  wherein  he  had  learned 
new  arts  and  sciences,  came  to  Scythia  his  native 
country,  and  wished  to  celebrate  there  a  great  feast, 


52  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

after  the  manner  of  the  Greeks,  in  honor  of  the 
mother  of  the  gods ;  hearing  of  which  the  king 
Sarillius  impaled  him  with  a  lance.  He  tells  also 
how  another  king  who  wearied  of  the  Scythian  mode 
of  living,  and  craved  the  customs  of  the  Greeks, 
among  whom  he  had  been  educated,  endeavored  to 
introduce  the  Bacchanalian  dances,  himself  taking 
part  in  them.  The  Scythians  refused  to  conform  to 
these  novel  ideas,  and  finally  cut  off  the  king's  head ; 
for,  adds  the  historian,  "  The  Scythians  detest  noth- 
ing so  much  as  foreign  customs."  The  tale  of 
Herodotus  was  in  danger  of  being  repeated  at  the 
beginning  of  the  reign  of  Peter  Romanoff.  With 
him  began  the  battle,  not  yet  ended,  between  old 
Russia,  which  calls  itself  Holy,  and  new  Russia,  cut 
after  the  Western  pattern.  While  Peter  travelled 
and  studied  the  industry  and  progress  of  Europe  with 
the  idea  of  bringing  them  to  his  Byzantine  empire, 
the  rebels  at  home  conspired  to  dethrone  this  daring 
innovator  who  threatened  to  use  fire  and  sword, 
whips  and  scourges,  the  very  implements  of  barbarism, 
against  barbarism  itself. 

It  is  a  notable  fact  in  Russian  history  that  none 
of  her  mighty  sovereigns  was  possessed  of  moral 
conditions  in  harmony  with  the  vigor  of  their  in- 
telligence and  will  force.  Russia  has  had  great 
emperors  but  not  good  emperors.  The  halo  that 
wreathes  the  head  of  Berenguela  of  Castile  and 
Isabel  the  Catholic,  Saint  Ferdinand,  or  Saint  Louis, 
—  men  and  women  in  whom  the  ideal  of  justice 
seemed  to  become  incarnate,  —  is  lacking  to  Vladimir 


THE  RUSSIAN  AUTOCRACY.  53 

the  Baptizer,  to  Ivan  IV.,  to  Peter  the  Great.  Among 
Occidental  peoples  the  monarchy  owed  its  prestige 
and  sacred  authority  to  good  and  just  kings,  vicars  of 
God  on  earth,  who  were  impressed  with  a  sense  of 
being  called  to  play  a  noble  part  in  the  drama  of  his- 
tory, conscious  of  grave  responsibilities,  and  sure  of 
having  to  render  an  account  of  their  stewardship  to  a 
Supreme  Power.  The  Czars  present  quite  a  different 
aspect :  they  seem  to  have  understood  civilization 
rather  by  its  externals  than  by  its  intrinsic  doctrines, 
which  demand  first  of  all  our  inward  perfecting,  our 
gradual  elevation  above  the  level  of  the  beast,  and 
the  continuous  affirmation  of  our  dignity.  Therefore 
they  used  material  force  as  their  instrument,  and 
spared  no  means  to  crown  their  efforts. 

But  with  all  it  is  impossible  to  withhold  a  tribute 
of  admiration  to  Peter  the  Great.  That  fierce  despot, 
gross  and  vicious,  was  not  only  a  reformer  but  a  hero. 
Pultowa,  which  beheld  the  fall  of  the  power  of  Sweden, 
justified  the  reforms  and  the  military  organization  in- 
stituted by  the  young  emperor,  and  made  Russia  a 
European  power,  —  a  power  respected,  influential,  and 
great.  Whatever  may  be  said  against  war,  whatever 
sentimental  comparisons  may  be  made  between  the 
founder  and  the  conqueror,  it  must  still  be  admitted 
that  the  monarch  who  leads  his  people  to  victory 
will  lead  them  ipse  facto  to  new  destinies,  to  a 
more  glorious  and  intense  historic  life. 

If  Peter  the  Great  had  vacillated  one  degree,  if 
he  had  squandered  time  and  opportunity  in  study- 
ing prudent  ways  and  means  for  planting  his  reforms, 


54  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

if  his  hand  had  trembled  in  laying  the  rod  across 
the  backs  of  his  nobles,  or  had  spared  the  lash 
upon  the  flesh  of  his  own  son,  perhaps  he  would 
never  have  achieved  the  transformation  of  his  Ori- 
ental empire  into  a  European  State,  a  transformation 
which  embraced  everything,  —  the  navy,  the  army, 
public  instruction,  social  relations,  commerce,  cus- 
toms, and  even  the  beards  of  his  subjects,  the  much 
respected  traditional  long  beards,  mercilessly  shaven 
by  order  of  the  autocrat.  In  his  zeal  for  illimitable 
authority,  and  that  his  decrees  might  meet  with 
no  obstacles  either  in  heaven  or  earth,  this  Czar 
conceived  the  bright  idea  of  assuming  the  spiritual 
power,  and  having  suppressed  the  Patriarchy  and 
created  the  Synod,  he  held  in  his  hands  the  con- 
science of  his  people,  could  count  its  every  pulsation, 
and  wind  it  up  like  a  well-regulated  clock.  What 
considerations,  human  or  divine,  will  check  a  man 
who,  like  Abraham,  sacrifices  his  first-born  to  an 
idea,  and  makes  himself  the  executioner  of  his 
own  son? 

The  race  sign  was  not  obliterated  from  the  Russian 
culture  produced  by  immoral  and  short-sighted  re- 
formers. A  woman  of  low  extraction  and  obscure 
history,  elevated  to  the  imperial  purple,  was  the 
one  to  continue  the  work  of  Peter  the  Great ;  his 
daughter's  favorite  became  the  protector  of  public 
instruction  and  the  founder  of  the  University  of 
Moscow  ;  a  frivolous  and  dissolute  Czarina,  Elisa- 
beth Petrowna,  modified  the  customs,  encouraged 
intellectual  pleasures  and  dramatic  representations, 


THE  RUSSIAN  AUTOCRACY.  55 

and  put  Russia  in  contact  with  the  Latin  mind  as 
developed  in  France ;  another  empress,  a  parricide, 
a  usurper  and  libertine,  who  deserves  the  perhaps 
pedantic  name  of  the  Semiramis  of  the  North  given 
her  by  Voltaire,  hid  her  delinquencies  under  the 
splendor  of  her  intellect,  the  refined  delicacy  of 
her  artistic  tastes,  her  gifts  as  a  writer,  and  her 
magnificence  as  a  sovereign. 

It  was  the  profound  and  violent  shock  administered 
by  the  hard  hand  of  Peter  the  Great  that  impelled 
Russia  along  the  road  to  French  culture,  and  with 
equal  violence  she  retraced  her  steps  at  the  invasion 
of  the  armies  of  Napoleon.  The  nobility  and  the 
patriots  of  Russia  cursed  France  in  French,  —  the 
language  which  had  been  taught  them  as  the  me- 
dium of  progress  ;  and  the  nation  became  conscious 
of  its  own  individuality  in  the  hour  of  trial,  in  the 
sudden  awakening  of  its  independent  instincts.  But 
in  proportion  as  the  nationality  arose  in  its  might, 
the  low  murmur  of  a  growing  revolution  made  itself 
heard.  This  impulse  did  not  burst  first  from  the 
hearts  of  the  people,  ground  down  by  the  patriarchal 
despotism  of  Old  Russia,  but  from  the  brain  of 
the  educated  classes,  especially  the  nobility.  The 
first  sign  of  the  strife,  predestined  from  the  close 
of  the  war  with  the  French,  was  the  political  repres- 
sion of  the  last  years  of  the  reign  of  Alexander  I., 
and  the  famous  republican  conspiracy  of  December 
against  Nicholas,  —  an  aristocratic  outbreak  contrived 
by  men  in  whose  veins  ran  the  blood  of  princes. 
Of  these  events  I  shall  speak  more  fully  when  I 


56  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

come  to  the  subject  of  Nihilism  ;  I  merely  mention 
it  here  in  this  general  glimpse  of  Russian  history. 

Menaced  by  Asia,  Russia  had  willingly  submitted 
to  an  absolute  power,  because,  as  we  have  seen,  she 
lacked  the  elements  that  had  concurred  in  the  for- 
mation of  modern  Europe.  Classic  civilization  never 
entered  her  veins ;  she  had  no  other  light  than  that 
which  shone  from  Byzantium,  nor  any  other  model 
than  that  offered  by  the  later  empire  ;  she  had  no 
place  in  the  great  Catholic  fraternity  which  had  its 
law  and  its  focus  in  Rome,  and  the  Mongolian  in- 
vasion accomplished  her  complete  isolation.  Spain 
also  suffered  an  invasion  of  a  foreign  race,  but  she 
pulled  herself  together  and  sustained  herself  on  a 
war-footing  for  seven  centuries.  Russia  could  not 
do  this,  but  bent  her  neck  to  the  yoke  of  the  con- 
queror. Our  national  character  would  have  chafed 
indeed  to  see  the  kings  of  Asturias  and  Castile,  in- 
stead of  perpetually  challenging  the  Moors,  become 
their  humble  vassals,  as  the  Muscovite  princes  were 
to  the  Khans.  With  us  the  struggle  for  re-conquest, 
far  from  exhausting  us,  redoubled  our  thirst  for  in- 
dependence, —  a  thirst  born  farther  back  than  that 
time,  in  spite  of  Leroy-Beaulieu's  statement,  although 
it  was  indeed  confirmed  and  augmented  during  the 
progress  of  that  Hispano-Saracenic  Iliad.  The 
Russians  being  obliged  to  lay  down  their  arms,  to 
suffer  and  to  wait,  assumed,  instead  of  our  ungovern- 
able vehemence,  a  patient  resignation.  But  they 
none  the  less  considered  themselves  a  nation,  and 
entertained  a  hope  of  vindicating  their  rights,  which 


THE  R  U SSI  AN  A  UTOCRACY.  5  7 

they  accomplished  finally  in  the  overthrow  of  the 
Tartars,  and  in  later  days  in  rising  against  the  French 
with  an  impetuosity  and  spontaneity  almost  as  savage 
as  Spain  had  shown  in  her  memorable  days.  More- 
over, Russia  lacked  the  elements  of  historic  activity 
necessary  to  enable  her  to  play  an  early  part  in  the 
work  of  modern  civilization.  She  had  no  feudalism, 
no  nobility  (as  we  understand  the  term),  no  chivalry, 
no  Gothic  architecture,  no  troubadours,  no  knights. 
She  lacked  the  intellectual  impetus  of  mediaeval 
courts,  the  sturdy  exercise  of  scholastic  disputations, 
the  elucidations  of  the  problems  of  the  human  race, 
which  were  propounded  by  the  thirteenth  century. 
She  lacked  the  religious  orders,  that  network  which 
enclosed  the  wide  edifice  of  Catholicism ;  and  the 
military,  uniting  in  mystic  sympathy  the  ascetic  and 
chivalric  sentiments.  She  lacked  the  councils  of  the 
laws  of  modern  rights  ;  and  that  her  lack  might  be  in 
nothing  lacking,  she  lacked  even  the  brilliant  heresies 
of  the  West,  the  subtle  rationalists  and  pantheists,  the 
Abelards  and  Amalrics,  whose  followers  were  brilliant 
ignoramuses  or  rank  bigots  roused  by  a  question  of 
ritual.  Lastly,  she  lacked  the  sunny  smile  of  Pallas 
Athene  and  the  Graces,  the  Renaissance,  which 
brightened  the  face  of  Europe  at  the  close  of  the 
Middle  Ages. 

And  as  the  civilization  brought  at  last  to  Russia 
was  the  product  of  nations  possessed  of  all  that 
Russia  lacked,  and  as  finally,  it  was  imposed  upon 
her  by  force,  and  without  those  gradual  transitions 
and  insensible  modifications  as  necessary  to  a  people 


58  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

as  to  an  individual,  she  could  not  accept  it  in  the 
frank  and  cordial  manner  indispensable  to  its  benefi- 
cent action.  A  nation  which  receives  a  culture  ready 
made,  and  not  elaborated  by  itself,  condemns  itself 
to  intellectual  sterility ;  at  most  it  can  only  hope  to 
imitate  well.  And  so  it  happened  with  Russia.  Her 
development  does  not  present  the  continuous  bent, 
the  gentle  undulations  of  European  history  in  which 
yesterday  creates  to-day,  and  to-day  prepares  for 
to-morrow,  without  an  irregular  or  awkward  halt,  or 
ever  a  trace  broken.  In  the  social  order  of  Russia 
primitive  institutions  coexist  with  products  of  our 
spick  and  span  new  sociology,  and  we  see  the  deep 
waters  of  the  past  mixed  with  the  froth  of  the  Utopia 
that  points  out  the  route  of  the  unknown  future. 
This  confusion  or  inharmoniousness  engenders  Rus- 
sian dualism,  the  cause  of  her  political  and  moral 
disturbances.  Russia  contains  an  ancient  people, 
to-day  an  anachronism,  and  a  society  in  embryo  strug- 
gling to  burst  its  bounds. 

But  above  all  it  is  evident  there  is  a  people  eager 
to  speak,  to  come  forth,  to  have  a  weight  in  the 
world,  because  its  long-deferred  time  has  come  ;  a 
race  which,  from  an  insignificant  tribe  mewed  in 
around  the  sources  of  the  Dnieper,  has  spread  out 
into  an  immense  nation,  whose  territory  reaches  from 
the  Baltic  to  the  Pacific,  from  the  Arctic  to  the 
borders  of  Turkey,  Persia,  and  China;  a  nation 
which  has  triumphed  over  Sweden,  Poland,  the 
Turks,  the  Mongols,  and  the  French ;  a  nation  by 
nature  expansive,  colonizing,  mighty  in  extent,  most 


THE  RUSSIAN  AUTOCRACY.  59 

interesting  in  the  qualities  of  the  genius  it  is  develop- 
ing day  by  day,  and  which  is  more  astonishing  than 
its  material  greatness,  because  it  is  the  privilege  of 
intellect  to  eclipse  force.  Half  a  dozen  brains  and 
spirits  who  are  now  spelling  out  their  race  for  us, 
arrest  and  captivate  all  who  contemplate  this  great 
empire.  Out  of  the  poverty  of  traditions  and  insti- 
tutions which  Russian  history  bewails,  two  charac- 
teristic ones  appear  as  bases  of  national  life :  the 
autocracy,  and  the  agrarian  commune,  —  absolute 
imperial  power  and  popular  democracy. 

The  geography  of  Russia,  which  predisposes  her 
both  to  unity  and  to  invasion,  which  obliges  her  to 
concentrate  herself,  and  to  seek  in  a  vigorous  auto- 
cratic principle  the  consciousness  of  independent 
being  as  a  people,  created  the  formidable  dominion 
of  the  Muscovite  Czars,  which  has  no  equal  in  the 
world.  Like  all  primordial  Russian  ideas,  the  plan 
of  this  Caesarian  sovereignty  proceeded  from  Byzan- 
tium, and  was  founded  by  Greek  refugee  priests,  who 
surrounded  it  with  the  aureole  of  divinity  indispen- 
sable to  the  establishment  of  advantageous  supersti- 
tions so  fecund  in  historical  results.  Since  the  twelfth 
century  the  autocracy  has  been  a  fixed  fact,  and  has 
gone  on  assuming  all  the  prerogatives,  absorbing  all 
the  power,  and  symbolizing  in  the  person  of  one  man 
this  colossal  nation.  The  sovereign  princes,  discern- 
ing clearly  the  object  and  end  of  these  aims,  have 
spared  no  means  to  attain  to  it.  They  began  by 
checking  the  proud  Boyars  in  their  train,  reducing 
them  from  companions  and  equals  to  subjects ;  later 


60  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

on  they  devoted  themselves  to  the  suppression  of  all 
institutions  of  democratic  character. 

For  the  sake  of  those  who  judge  of  a  race  by  the 
political  forms  it  uses,  it  should  be  observed  that 
Russia  has  not  only  preserved  latent  in  her  the  spirit 
of  democracy,  but  that  she  possessed  in  the  Middle 
Ages  republican  institutions  more  liberal  and  radical 
than  any  in  the  rest  of  Europe.  The  Italian  repub- 
lics, which  at  bottom  were  really  oligarchies,  cannot 
compare  with  the  municipal  and  communist  repub- 
lics of  Viatka,  Pskof,  and  especially  the  great  city 
of  Novgorod,  which  called  itself  with  pride  Lord 
Novgorod  the  Great.  The  supreme  power  there 
resided  in  an  assembly  of  the  citizens  ;  the  prince  was 
content  to  be  an  administrator  or  president  elected 
by  free  suffrage,  and  above  all  an  ever-ready  captain 
in  time  of  war;  on  taking  his  office  he  swore  sol- 
emnly to  respect  the  laws,  customs,  and  privileges 
of  the  republic ;  if  he  committed  a  perjury,  the  as- 
sembly convened  in  the  public  square  at  the  clang  of 
an  ancient  bell,  and  the  prince,  having  been  declared 
a  traitor,  was  stripped,  expelled,  and  cast  into  the 
mud,  according  to  the  forcible  popular  expression. 
This  industrious  republic  reached  the  acme  of  its 
prosperity  in  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries, 
after  which  the  rising  principality  of  Moscow,  now 
sure  of  its  future,  came  and  took  down  the  bells  of 
Novgorod  the  Great,  and  so  silenced  their  voices 
of  bronze  and  the  voice  of  Russian  liberties,  though 
not  without  a  bloody  battle,  as  witnesseth  the  whirl- 
pool —  which  is  still  pointed  out  to  the  curious  trav- 


THE  RUSSIAN  AUTOCRACY.  6 1 

eller  —  under  the  bridge  of  the  ancient  republican  city, 
whose  inhabitants  were  drowned  there  by  Ivan  the 
Terrible.  Upon  their  dead  bodies  he  founded  the 
unity  of  the  empire.  Nor  are  the  free  towns  the  only 
tradition  of  autonomy  which  disturbed  the  growing 
autocratic  power.  The  Cossacks  for  a  long  time 
formed  an  independent  and  warlike  aristocracy,  proud 
and  indomitable ;  and  to  subdue  and  incorporate 
these  bellicose  tribes  with  the  rest  of  the  nation  it  was 
necessary  to  employ  both  skill  and  force. 

We  may  say  without  vanity  that  although  the  Span- 
iards exalted  monarchical  loyalty  into  a  cult,  they  never 
depreciated  human  dignity.  Amongst  us  the  king  is 
he  who  makes  right  (face  derechd),  and  if  he  makes 
it  not,  we  consider  him  a  tyrant,  a  usurper  of  the 
royal  prerogative ;  in  acknowledging  him  lord  of  life 
and  property,  we  protest  (by  the  mouth  of  Calderon's 
honest  rustic)  against  the  idea  that  he  can  arrogate 
to  himself  also  the  dominion  over  conscience  and 
soul;  and  the  smallest  subject  in  Spain  would  not 
endure  at  the  king's  hand  the  blows  administered  by 
Peter  the  Great  for  the  correction  of  his  nobles,  them- 
selves descendants  of  Rurik.  In  Russia,  where  the 
inequalities  and  extremes  of  climate  seem  to  have 
been  communicated  to  its  institutions,  there  was 
nothing  between  the  independent  republics  and  the 
autocracy.  In  Spain,  the  slightest  territorial  disaffec- 
tion, the  fruit  of  partial  conquests  or  insignificant 
victories,  was  an  excuse  for  some  upstart  princeling, 
our  instinctive  tendencies  being  always  monarchical 
and  anything  like  absolute  authority  and  Csesarism, 


62  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

so  odious  that  we  never  allowed  it  even  in  our  most 
excellent  kings ;  a  dream  of  imperial  power  would 
almost  have  cost  them  the  throne.  In  Russia,  ab- 
solutism is  in  the  air,  —  one  sole  master,  one  lord 
omnipotent,  the  image  of  God  himself. 

Read  the  Muscovite  code.  The  Czar  is  named 
therein  the  autocrat  whose  power  is  unlimited.  See 
the  catechism  which  is  taught  in  the  schools  of 
Poland;  it  says  that  the  subject  owes  to  the  Czar, 
not  love  or  loyalty,  but  adoration.  Hear  the  Russian 
hymn ;  amid  its  harmonies  the  same  idea  resounds. 
In  all  the  common  forms  of  salutation  to  the  Czar 
we  shall  find  something  that  excites  in  us  a  feeling 
of  rebellion,  something  that  represents  us  as  unworthy 
to  stand  before  him  as  one  mortal  before  another. 
Paul  I.  said  to  a  distinguished  foreigner,  "You  must 
know  that  in  Russia  there  is  no  person  more  im- 
portant than  the  person  to  whom  I  speak  and  while 
I  speak."  A  Czar  who  directs  by  means  of  ukases 
not  only  the  dress  but  even  the  words  of  the  language 
which  his  subjects  must  use,  and  changes  the  track 
of  a  railroad  by  a  stroke  of  his  pen,  frightens  one 
even  more  than  when  he  signs  a  sentence  of  proscrip- 
tion ;  for  he  reaches  the  high-water  mark  of  authority 
when  he  interferes  in  these  simple  and  unimportant 
matters,  and  demonstrates  what  one  may  call  the 
micrography  of  despotism.  If  anything  can  excuse 
or  even  commend  to  our  eyes  this  obedience  carried 
to  an  absurdity,  it  is  its  paternal  character.  There 
are  no  offences  between  fathers  and  sons,  and  the 
Czar  never  can  insult  a  subject.  The  serf  calls  him 


THE  RUSSIAN  AUTOCRACY.  63 

thou  and  Father,  and  on  seeing  him  pass  he  takes  off 
his  cap  though  the  snow  falls,  crossing  his  hands  over 
his  breast  with  religious  veneration.  For  him  the 
Czar  possesses  every  virtue,  and  is  moved  only  by 
the  highest  purposes ;  he  thinks  him  impeccable, 
sacred,  almost  immortal.  If  we  abide  by  the  judg- 
ment of  those  who  see  a  symbol  of  the  Russian 
character  in  the  call  of  Rurik  and  the  voluntary 
placing  of  the  power  in  his  hands,  the  autocracy  will 
not  seem  a  secular  abuse  or  a  violent  tyranny,  but 
rather  an  organic  product  of  a  soil  and  a  race ;  and 
it  will  inspire  the  respect  drawn  forth  by  any  spon- 
taneous and  genuine  production. 

There  exists  in  Russia  a  small  school  of  thinkers 
on  public  affairs,  important  by  reason  of  the  weight 
they  have  had  and  still  have  upon  public  opinion. 
They  are  called  Sclavophiles,  —  people  enamoured 
of  their  ancient  land,  who  affirm  that  the  essence  of 
Russian  nationality  is  to  be  found  in  the  customs  and 
institutions  of  the  laboring  classes  who  are  not  con- 
taminated by  the  artificial  civilization  imported  from 
the  corrupt  West ;  who  make  a  point  of  appearing  on 
occasions  in  the  national  dress, —  the  red  silk  blouse 
and  velvet  jacket,  the  long  beard  and  the  clumsy 
boots.  According  to  them,  the  only  independent 
forces  on  which  Russia  can  count  are  the  people  and 
the  Czar,  —  the  immense  herd  of  peasants,  and,  at  the 
top,  the  autocrat.  And  hi  fact  the  Russian  empire, 
in  spite  of  official  hierarchies,  is  a  rural  state  in  which 
the  sentiment  of  democratic  equality  predominates  so 
entirely  that  the  people,  not  content  with  having  but 


64  THE.  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

yesterday  taken  the  Czar's  part  against  the  rich  and 
mighty  Boyars,  sustains  him  to-day  against  the  revo- 
lution, loves  him,  and  cannot  conceive  of  interme- 
diaries between  him  and  his  subjects,  between  lord 
and  vassal,  or,  to  put  it  still  more  truly,  between 
father  and  son.  And  having  once  reduced  the  no- 
bles, with  the  consent  of  the  people,  to  the  condition 
of  inoffensive  hangers-on  of  the  court,  many  thinkers 
believe  that  the  Czar  need  only  lean  upon  the  rude 
hand  of  the  peasant  to  quell  whatever  political  dis- 
affection may  arise.  So  illimitable  is  the  imperial 
power,  that  it  becomes  impotent  against  itself  if  it 
would  reduce  itself  by  relegating  any  of  its  influence 
to  a  class,  such  as,  for  instance,  the  aristocracy. 
If  turbulent  magnates  or  sullen  conspirators  manage 
to  get  rid  of  the  person  of  the  Czar,  the  principle  still 
remains  inviolate. 

VI. 

THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES. 

AT  the  right  hand  of  the  imperial  power  stands  the 
second  Russian  national  institution,  the  municipal 
commune  known  as  the  mir,  which  is  arresting  the 
attention  of  European  statesmen  and  sociologists, 
since  they  have  learned  of  its  existence  (thanks  to 
the  work  of  Baron  Haxsthausen  on  the  internal  life 
of  Russia).  Who  is  not  astonished  at  finding  realized 
in  the  land  of  the  despots  a  large  number  of  the 
communist  theories  which  are  the  terror  of  the  mid- 


THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES.  65 

die  classes  in  liberal  countries,  and  various  problems, 
of  the  kind  we  call  formidable,  there  practically 
solved  ?  And  why  should  not  a  nation  often  called 
barbarous  swell  with  pride  at  finding  itself,  suddenly 
and  without  noise  or  effort,  safely  beyond  what  in 
others  threatens,  the  extremity  of  social  revolution? 
Therefore  it  happens  that  since  the  discovery  of  the 
mir,  the  Russians  have  one  argument  more,  and  not 
a  weak  one,  against  the  corrupt  civilization  of  the 
Occident.  The  European  nations,  they  say,  are  run- 
ning wildly  toward  anarchy,  and  in  some,  as  England, 
the  concentration  of  property  in  a  few  hands  creates 
a  proletariat  a  thousand  times  more  unhappy  than 
the  Russian  serf  ever  was,  a  hungry  horde  hostile  to 
the  State  and  to  the  wealthy  classes.  Russia  evades 
this  danger  by  means  of  the  mir.  In  the  Russian 
village  the  land  belongs  to  the  municipality,  amongst 
whose  members  it  is  distributed  periodically;  each 
able-bodied  individual  receives  what  he  needs,  and  is 
spared  hunger  and  disgrace. 

Foreigners  have  not  been  slow  to  examine  into  the 
advantages  of  such  an  arrangement.  Mackenzie 
Wallace  has  pronounced  it  to  be  truly  constitutional, 
as  the  phrase  is  understood  in  his  country ;  not  mean- 
ing a  sterile  and  delusive  law,  written  upon  much 
paper  and  enwrapped  in  formulas,  but  a  traditional 
concept  which  came  forth  at  the  bidding  of  real  and 
positive  necessities.  What  an  eloquent  lesson  for 
those  who  think  they  have  improved  upon  the  plan 
of  the  ages  !  History,  scouting  our  thirst  for  progress, 
offers  us  again  in  the  mir  the  picture  of  the  serpent 
5 


66  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

biting  his  own  tail.  This  institution,  so  much  lauded 
by  the  astonished  traveller  and  the  meditative  phi- 
losopher, is  really  a  sociological  fossil,  remains  of  pre- 
historic times,  preserved  in  Russia  by  reason  of  the 
suspension  or  slow  development  of  the  history  of  the 
race.  Students  of  law  have  told  me  that  in  the  an- 
cient forms  of  Castilian  realty,  those  of  Santander, 
for  example,  there  have  been  discovered  traces  of 
conditions  analogous  to  the  Russian  mir.  And  when 
I  have  seen  the  peasants  of  my  own  province  assem- 
bled in  the  church-porch  after  Mass,  I  have  imagined 
I  could  see  the  remains  of  this  Saturnian  and  patri- 
archal type  of  communist  partition.  Common  pos- 
session of  the  land  is  a  primitive  idea  as  remote  as 
the  prehistoric  ages ;  it  belongs  to  the  paleontology 
of  social  science,  and  in  those  countries  where  civili- 
zation early  flourished,  gave  way  before  individual 
interest  and  the  modern  idea  of  property.  "  Happy 
age  and  blessed  times  were  those,"  exclaimed  Don 
Quixote,  looking  at  a  handful  of  acorns,  "  which  the 
ancients  called  golden,  and  not  because  gold  which 
in  our  iron  age  has  such  a  value  set  on  it,  not  be- 
cause gold  could  be  got  without  any  trouble,  but 
because  those  who  lived  in  it  were  ignorant  of  those 
two  words,  mine  and  thine!  In  that  blessed  age 
everything  was  in  common ;  nobody  needed  to  take 
any  more  trouble  for  his  necessities  than  to  stretch 
forth  his  hand  and  take  from  the  great  oak-trees  the 
sweet  and  savory  fruit  so  liberally  offered  ! "  Gone 
long  ago  for  us  is  the  time  deplored  by  the  ingenious 
knight,  but  it  has  reappeared  there  in  the  North, 


THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES.  67 

where,  according  to  our  information,  it  is  still  recent ; 
for  it  is  thought  that  the  mir  was  established  about 
the  sixteenth  century. 

The  character  of  the  mir  is  entirely  democratic ; 
the  oldest  peasant  represents  the  executive  power 
in  the  municipal  assembly,  but  the  authority  resides 
in  the  assembly  itself,  which  consists  of  all  the  heads 
of  families,  and  convenes  Sundays  in  the  open  air, 
in  the  public  square  or  the  church-porch.  The  as- 
sembly wields  a  sacred  power  which  no  one  disputes. 
Next  to  the  Czar  the  Russian  peasant  loves  his  mir, 
among  whose  members  the  land  is  in  common,  as 
also  the  lake,  the  mills,  the  canals,  the  flocks,  the 
granary,  the  forest.  It  is  all  re-divided  from  time  to 
time,  in  order  to  avoid  exclusive  appropriation.  Half 
the  cultivable  land  in  the  empire  is  subject  to  this 
system,  and  no  capitalist  or  land-owner  can  disturb  it 
by  acquiring  even  an  inch  of  municipal  territory  ;  the 
laborer  is  born  invested  with  the  right  of  possession 
as  certainly  as  we  are  all  entitled  to  a  grave.  In 
spite  of  a  feeling  of  distrust  and  antipathy  against  com- 
munism, and  of  my  own  ignorance  in  these  matters 
which  precludes  my  judgment  of  them,  I  must  con- 
fess to  a  certain  agreement  with  the  ardent  apologists 
of  the  Russian  agrarian  municipality.  Tikomirov  says 
that  in  Russia  individual  and  collective  property- 
rights  still  quarrel,  but  that  the  latter  has  the  upper 
hand  ;  this  seems  strange,  since  the  modern  tendency 
is  decidedly  toward  individualism,  and  it  is  hard  to 
conceive  of  a  return  to  patriarchal  forms ;  but  there 
is  no  reason  to  doubt  the  vitality  of  the  mir  and  its 


68  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

generation  and  growth  in  the  heart  of  the  fatherland, 
and  this  is  certainly  worthy  of  note,  especially  in  a 
country  like  Russia,  so  much  given  to  the  imitation 
of  foreign  models.  Mere  existence  and  permanence 
is  no  raison  d'etre  for  any  institution,  for  many  exist 
which  are  pernicious  and  abominable ;  but  when  an 
institution  is  found  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  spirit 
of  the  people,  it  must  have  a  true  merit  and  value. 
It  is  said  that  the  tendency  to  aggregate,  either  in 
agrarian  municipalities  or  in  trades  guilds  and  cor- 
porations, is  born  in  the  blood  and  bred  in  the  bone 
of  the  Sclavs,  and  that  they  carry  out  these  associa- 
tions wherever  they  go,  by  instinct,  as  the  bee  makes 
its  cells  always  the  same ;  and  it  is  certainly  true  that 
as  an  ethnic  force  the  communistic  principle  claims  a 
right  to  develop  itself  in  Russia.  It  is  certain  that 
the  mir  fosters  in  the  poor  Russian  village  habits  of 
autonomous  administration  and  municipal  liberty, 
and  that  in  the  shadow  of  this  humble  and  primitive 
institution  men  have  found  a  common  home  within 
the  fatherland,  no  matter  how  scattered  over  its  vast 
plains.  "  The  heavens  are  very  high,  and  the  Czar  is 
far  off,"  says  the  Russian  peasant  sadly,  when  he  is 
the  victim  of  any  injustice ;  his  only  refuge  is  the 
mir,  which  is  always  close  at  hand.  The  mir  acts 
also  as  a  counterbalance  to  a  centralized  adminis- 
tration, which  is  an  inevitable  consequence  of  the 
conformation  of  Russian  territory ;  and  it  creates 
an  advantageous  solidarity  among  the  farmers,  who 
are  equal  owners  of  the  same  heritages  and  subject 
to  the  same  taxes. 


THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES.  69 

Since  1861  the  rural  governments,  released  from  all 
seignorial  obligations,  elect  their  officers  from  among 
themselves,  and  the  smaller  municipal  groups,  still 
preserving  each  its  own  autonomy,  meet  together  in 
one  larger  municipal  body  called  volost,  which  corre- 
sponds to  the  better-known  term  canton.  No  insti- 
tution could  be  more  democratic  :  here  the  laboring 
man  discusses  his  affairs  en  famille,  without  interfer- 
ence from  other  social  classes ;  the  mir  boasts  of  it, 
as  also  of  the  fact  that  it  has  never  in  its  corporate 
existence  known  head  or  chief,  even  when  its  mem- 
bers were  all  serfs.  In  fine,  the  mir  holds  its  sessions 
without  any  presiding  officer;  rooted  in  the  com- 
munist and  equal-rights  idea,  it  acknowleges  no  law 
of  superiority ;  it  votes  by  unanimous  acclamation ; 
the  minority  yields  always  to  the  general  opinion, 
to  oppose  which  would  be  thought  base  obstinacy. 
"  Only  God  shall  judge  the  mir"  says  the  proverb ; 
the  word  mir,  say  the  etymological  students  and  ad- 
mirers of  the  institution,  means,  "world,"  "universe," 
"  complete  and  perfect  microcosm,"  which  is  suffi- 
cient unto  itself  and  is  governed  by  its  own  powers. 

To  what  does  the  mir  owe  its  vitality?  To  the 
fact  that  it  did  not  originate  in  the  mind  of  the  Uto- 
pian or  the  ideologist,  but  was  produced  naturally  by 
derivation  from  the  family,  from  which  type  the  whole 
Russian  state  organization  springs.  It  should  be  un- 
derstood, however,  that  the  peasant  family  in  Russia 
differs  from  our  conception  of  the  institution,  recall- 
ing as  it  does,  like  all  purely  Russian  institutions,  the 
most  ancient  or  prehistoric  forms.  The  family,  or 


70  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

to  express  it  in  the  language  of  the  best  writers  on 
the  subject,  the  great  Russian  family,  is  an  associa- 
tion of  members  submitted  to  the  absolute  authority 
of  the  eldest,  generally  the  grandfather,  —  a  fact  per- 
sonally interesting  to  me  because  of  the  surprising 
resemblance  it  discloses  between  Russia  and  the 
province  of  Gallicia,  where  I  perceive  traces  of  this 
family  power  in  the  petrucios,  or  elders.  In  this  asso- 
ciation everything  is  in  common,  and  each  individual 
works  for  all  the  others.  To  the  head  of  the  house 
is  given  a  name  which  may  be  translated  as  adminis- 
trator, major-domo,  or  director  of  works,  but  conveys 
no  idea  of  relationship.  The  laws  of  inheritance  and 
succession  are  understood  in  the  same  spirit,  and  very 
differently  from  our  custom.  When  a  house  or  an  es- 
tate is  to  be  settled,  the  degree  of  relationship  among 
the  heirs  is  not  considered;  the  whole  property  is 
divided  equally  between  the  male  adults,  including 
natural  or  adopted  sons  if  they  have  served  in  the 
family  the  same  as  legitimate  sons,  while  the  married 
daughter  is  considered  as  belonging  to  the  family  of 
her  husband,  and  she  and  the  son  who  has  separated 
himself  from  the  parent  house  are  excluded  from  the 
succession,  or  rather  from  the  final  liquidation  or  set- 
tlement between  the  associates.  Although  there  is  a 
law  of  inheritance  written  in  the  Russian  Code,  it  is 
a  dead  letter  to  a  people  opposed  to  the  idea  of 
individual  property. 

Intimately  connected  with  this  communist  manner 
of  interpreting  the  rights  of  inheritance  and  succession 
are  certain  facts  in  Russian  history.  For  a  long  time 


THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES.  71 

the  sovereign  authority  was  divided  among  the  sons 
of  the  ruler;  and  as  the  Russian  nobility  rebelled 
against  the  establishment  of  differences  founded  upon 
priority  in  birth,  entail  and  primogeniture  took  root 
with  difficulty,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  made  by  the 
emperors  to  import  Occidental  forms  of  law.  Their 
idea  of  succession  is  so  characteristic  that,  like  the 
Goths,  they  sometimes  prefer  the  collateral  to  the  im- 
mediate branch,  and  the  brother  instead  of  the  son 
will  mount  the  steps  of  the  throne.  It  is  important 
to  note  these  radical  differences,  because  a  race  which 
follows  an  original  method  in  the  matter  of  its  laws 
has  a  great  advantage  in  setting  out  upon  genuine 
literary  creations. 

But  while  the  family,  understood  as  a  group  or  an 
association,  offers  many  advantages  from  the  agrarian 
point  of  view,  its  disadvantages  are  serious  and  con- 
siderable because  it  annuls  individual  liberty.  It  fa- 
cilitates agricultural  labors,  it  puts  a  certain  portion 
of  land  at  the  service  of  each  adult  member,  as  well 
as  tools,  implements,  fuel,  and  cattle ;  helps  each  to 
a  maintenance ;  precludes  hunger ;  avoids  legal  ex- 
actions (for  the  associated  family  cannot  be  taxed, 
just  as  the  mir  cannot  be  deprived  of  its  lands)  ;  but 
on  the  other  hand  it  puts  the  individual,  or  rather  the 
true  family,  the  human  pair,  under  an  intolerable  do- 
mestic tyranny.  According  to  traditional  usage,  the 
authority  of  the  head  of  the  family  was  omnipotent : 
he  ordered  his  house,  as  says  an  old  proverb,  like  a 
Khan  of  the  Crimea ;  his  gray  hairs  were  sacred,  and 
he  wielded  the  power  of  a  tribal  chieftain  rather  than 


72  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

of  a  head  of  a  house.  In  our  part  of  the  world  mar- 
riage emancipates ;  in  Russia,  it  was  the  first  link  in  a 
galling  chain.  The  oppression  lay  heaviest  upon  the 
woman  :  popular  songs  recount  the  sorrows  of  the 
daughters-in-law  subjected  to  the  maltreatment  of 
mothers-in-law  and  sisters-in-law,  or  the  victims  of  the 
vicious  appetites  of  the  chief,  who  in  a  literally  Bib- 
lical spirit  thought  himself  lord  of  all  that  dwelt 
beneath  his  roof.  Truly  those  institutions  which 
sometimes  elicit  our  admiration  for  their  patriarchal 
simplicity  hide  untold  iniquities,  and  develop  a  ten- 
dency to  the  abuse  of  power  which  seems  inherent 
in  the  human  species. 

At  first  sight  nothing  could  be  more  attractive 
than  the  great  Russian  family,  nothing  more  useful 
than  the  rural  communes ;  and  nowadays,  when  we 
are  applying  the  laws  and  technicism  of  physiology 
to  the  study  of  society ,  this  primordial  association 
would  seem  the  cell  from  which  the  true  organism 
of  the  State  may  be  born ;  the  family  is  a  sort  of 
lesser  municipality,  the  municipality  is  a  larger  fam- 
ily, and  the  whole  Russian  people  is  an  immense 
agglomeration,  a  great  ant-hill  whose  head  is  the 
emperor.  In  the  popular  songs  we  see  the  Oriental 
idea  of  the  nation  expressed  as  the  family,  when  the 
peasant  calls  the  Czar  father.  But  this  primitive 
machinery  can  never  prevail  against  the  notion  of 
individualism  entertained  among  civilized  peoples. 
Our  way  of  understanding  property,  which  the  ad- 
mirers of  the  Russian  commune  consider  fundamen- 
tally vicious,  is  the  only  way  compatible  with  the 


THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES.  73 

independence  and  dignity  of  work  and  the  develop- 
ment of  industries  and  arts.  The  Russian  mir  may 
prevent  the  growth  of  the  proletariat,  but  it  is  by 
putting  mankind  in  bonds.  It  may  be  said  that 
agrarian  communism  only  differs  from  servitude  in 
that  the  latter  provides  one  master  and  the  former 
many;  and  that  though  the  laboring  man  theoreti- 
cally considers  himself  a  member  of  a  co-operative 
agricultural  society,  he  is  in  reality  a  slave,  subject  to 
collective  responsibilities  and  obligations,  by  virtue  of 
which  he  is  tied  to  the  soil  the  same  as  the  vassals 
of  our  feudal  epochs.  Perhaps  the  new  social  condi- 
tions which  are  the  fruit  of  the  emancipation  of  the 
serfs,  which  struck  at  and  violated  the  great  asso- 
ciated family,  will  at  last  undermine  the  mir,  unless 
the  mir  learns  some  way  to  adapt  itself  to  any 
political  mutations.  What  is  most  important  to  the 
study  of  the  historical  development  and  the  social 
ideas  as  shown  in  modern  Russian  literature,  is  to 
understand  how  by  means  of  the  great  family  and  the 
agrarian  municipality,  communism  and  socialism  run 
in  the  veins  of  the  people  of  Russia,  so  that  Leroy- 
Beaulieu  could  say  with  good  reason,  that  if  they  are 
to  be  preserved  from  the  pernicious  effects  of  the 
Occidental  proletariat  it  must  be  by  inoculation,  as 
vaccination  exempts  from  small-pox. 

The  socialist  leaven  may  be  fairly  said  to  lie  in  the 
most  important  class  in  the  Russian  State,  —  impor- 
tant not  alone  by  reason  of  numerical  superiority, 
but  because  it  is  the  depositary  of  the  liveliest  national 
energies  and  the  custodian  of  the  future  :  I  mean 


74  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

the  peasants.  There  are  some  who  think  that  this 
mujik,  this  little  man  or  black  man,  tiller  of  still 
blacker  soil,  holds  the  future  destinies  of  Europe  in 
his  hands ;  and  that  when  this  great  new  Horde 
becomes  conscious  some  day  of  its  strength  and 
homogeneity,  it  will  rise,  and  in  its  concentrated 
might  fall  upon  some  portion  of  the  globe,  and  there 
will  be  no  defence  or  resistance  possible.  In  the 
rest  of  Europe  it  is  the  cities,  the  urban  element, 
which  regulates  the  march  of  political  events.  Cer- 
tainly Spain  is  not  ignorant  of  this  fact,  since  she  has 
a  vivid  remembrance  of  civil  wars  in  which  the  rustic 
element,  representing  tradition,  was  vanquished.  In 
Russia,  the  cities  have  no  proportionate  influence,  and 
that  which  demands  the  special  attention  of  the  gov- 
ernor or  the  revolutionist  is  the  existence,  needs,  and 
thoughts  of  the  innumerable  peasant  communities, 
who  are  the  foundation  and  material  of  an  empire 
justly  termed  rural.  From  this  is  derived  a  sort  of 
cult,  an  apotheosis  which  is  among  the  most  curious 
to  be  found  in  Russian  modern  literature.  Of  the 
peasant,  wrapped  in  badly  cured  sheepskins,  and 
smelling  like  a  beast;  the  humble  and  submissive 
peasant,  yesterday  laden  with  the  chains  of  servitude ; 
the  dirty,  cabbage-eating  peasant,  drunk  with  wodka, 
who  beats  his  wife  and  trembles  with  fright  at  ghosts, 
at  the  Devil,  and  at  thunder,  —  of  this  peasant,  the 
charity  of  his  friends  and  the  poetic  imagination  of 
Russian  writers  has  made  a  demi-god,  an  ideal.  So 
great  is  the  power  of  genius,  that  without  detriment 
to  the  claims  of  truth,  picturing  him  with  accurate 


THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES.  75 

and  even  brutal  realism  (which  we  shall  find  native 
to  the  Russian  novel),  Russian  authors  have  distilled 
from  this  peasant  a  poetic  essence  which  we  inhale 
involuntarily  until  we,  aristocratic  by  instinct,  dis- 
dainful of  the  rustic,  given  to  ridicule  the  garlic- 
smelling  herd,  yield  to  its  power.  And  not  content 
with  seeing  in  this  peasant  a  brother,  a  neighbor, 
whom,  according  to  the  word  of  Christ,  we  ought  to 
love  and  succor,  Russian  literature  discovers  in  him 
a  certain  indefinable  sublimity,  a  mysterious  illumina- 
tion which  other  social  classes  have  not.  Not  merely 
because  of  the  introduction  of  the  picturesque  ele- 
ment in  the  description  of  popular  customs  has  it 
been  said  that  Russian  contemporary  literature  smells 
of  the  peasant,  but  far  rather  because  it  raises  the 
peasant  to  the  heights  of  human  moral  grandeur, 
marks  in  him  every  virtue,  and  presupposes  him  pos- 
sessed of  powers  which  he  never  puts  forth.  From 
Turguenief,  fine  poet  as  he  is,  to  Chtch^drine,  the 
biting  satirist,  all  paint  the  peasant  with  loving  touch, 
always  find  a  ready  excuse  for  his  defects,  and  lend 
him  rare  qualities,  without  ever  failing  to  show  faith- 
fully his  true  physiognomy.  Corruption,  effeminacy, 
and  vice  characterize  the  upper  classes,  particularly 
the  employees  of  government,  or  any  persons  charged 
with  public  trusts ;  and  to  make  these  the  more 
odious,  they  are  attributed  with  a  detestable  hypoc- 
risy made  more  hateful  by  apparent  kindliness  and 
culture. 

There  is  a  humorous  little  novel  by  Chtchedrine 
(an   author  who   merits   especial  mention)   entitled 


76  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

"  The  Generals x  and  the  Mujik"  which  repre- 
sents two  generals  of  the  most  ostentatious  sort, 
transported  to  a  desert  island,  unable  either  to  get 
food  or  to  get  away,  until  they  meet  with  a  mujik, 
who  performs  all  sorts  of  services  for  them,  even  to 
making  broth  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  then, 
after  making  a  raft,  conveys  them  safely  to  St. 
Petersburg  ;  whereupon  these  knavish  generals,  after 
recovering  back  pay,  send  to  their  deliverer  a  glass  of 
whiskey  and  a  sum  amounting  to  about  three  cents. 
But  this  bitter  allegory  is  a  mild  one  compared  with 
the  mystical  apotheosis  of  the  mujik  as  conceived 
by  Tolstoi.  In  one  of  his  works,  "  War  and  Peace," 
the  hero,  after  seeking  vainly  by  every  imaginable 
means  to  understand  all  human  wisdom  and  divine 
revelation,  finds  at  last  the  sum  of  it  in  a  common 
soldier,  imperturbable  and  dull  of  soul,  and  poor  in 
spirit,  a  prisoner  of  the  French,  who  endures  with 
calm  resignation  ill  treatment  and  death  without  once 
entertaining  the  idea  of  taking  the  life  of  his  foreign 
captors.  This  poor  fellow,  who,  owing  to  his  rude, 
uncouth  mode  of  life,  suffers  persecution  by  other 

1  Voguie  explains  this  title  of  "  General "  to  be  both  in 
the  civil  and  military  order  with  the  qualification  of  "  Excel- 
lency." Without  living  in  Russia  one  can  hardly  understand 
the  prestige  attached  to  this  title,  or  the  facilities  it  gives 
everywhere  for  everything.  To  attain  this  dignity  is  the 
supreme  ambition  of  all  the  servants  of  the  State.  The 
common  salutation  by  way  of  pleasantry  among  friends  is 
this  line  from  the  comedy  of  Griboiedof,  which  has  be- 
come a  proverb:  "  I  wish  you  health  and  the  tchin  of  a  Gen- 
eral." —  TR. 


THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES.  77 

importunate  lesser  enemies  which  I  forbear  to  name, 
is  the  one  to  teach  Pierre  Besukoff  the  alpha  and 
omega  of  all  philosophy,  wherein  he  is  wise  by  intui- 
tion, and,  in  virtue  of  his  condition  as  the  peasant, 
fatalistic  and  docile. 

I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  see  with  my  own 
eyes  this  idol  of  Russian  literature,  and  to  satisfy  a 
part  of  my  curiosity  concerning  some  features  of  Holy 
Russia.  Twenty  or  thirty  peasants  from  Smolensk 
who  had  been  bitten  by  a  rabid  wolf  were  sent  to 
Paris  to  be  treated  by  M.  Pasteur.  In  company  with 
some  Russian  friends  I  went  to  a  small  hotel,  mounted 
to  the  fourth  floor,  and  entered  a  narrow  sleeping 
apartment.  The  air  being  breathed  by  ten  or  twelve 
human  beings  was  scarcely  endurable,  and  the  fumes 
of  carbolic  acid  failed  to  purify  it ;  but  while  my 
companions  were  talking  with  their  compatriots,  and 
a  Russian  young-lady  medical  student  dressed  their 
wounds,  I  studied  to  my  heart's  content  these  men 
from  a  distant  land.  I  frankly  confess  that  they 
made  a  profound  impression  upon  me  which  I  can 
only  describe  by  saying  that  they  seemed  to  me  like 
Biblical  personages.  It  gave  me  a  certain  pleasure 
to  see  in  them  the  marks  of  an  ancient  people,  rude 
and  rough  in  outward  appearance,  but  with  something 
majestic  and  monumental  about  them,  and  yet  with 
a  suggestion  of  latent  juvenility,  the  grave  and  re- 
ligious air  of  dreamer  or  seer,  different  from  really 
Oriental  peoples.  Their  features,  as  well  as  their 
limbs  (which  bearing  the  marks  of  the  wild  beast's 
teeth  they  held  out  to  be  washed  and  dressed  with 


7 8  THE  EVOLUTION   OP  RUSSIA. 

tranquil  resignation),  were  large  and  mighty  like  a 
tree.  One  old  man  took  my  attention  particularly, 
because  he  presented  a  type  of  the  patriarchs  of  old, 
and  might  have  served  the  painter  as  a  model  for 
Abraham  or  Job,  —  a  wide  skull  bald  at  the  top, 
fringed  about  with  yellowish  white  hair  like  a  halo ; 
a  long  beard  streaked  with  white  also  ;  well-cut  fea- 
tures, frontal  development  very  prominent,  his  eyes 
half  hidden  beneath  bushy  eyebrows.  The  arm  which 
he  uncovered  was  like  an  old  tree-trunk,  rough  and 
knotty,  the  thick  sinuous  network  of  veins  reminding 
one  of  the  roots ;  his  enormous  hands,  wrinkled  and 
horny,  bespoke  a  life  of  toil,  of  incessant  activity,  of 
daily  strife  with  the  energies  of  Mother  Nature.  I 
heard  with  delight,  though  without  understanding  a 
word,  their  guttural  speech,  musical  and  harmonious 
withal,  and  I  needed  not  to  heat  my  imagination 
overmuch  to  see  in  those  poor  peasants  the  realiza- 
tion of  the  great  novelists'  descriptions,  and  an  ex- 
pression of  patience  and  sadness  which  raised  them 
above  vulgarity  and  coarseness.  The  sadness  may 
have  been  the  result  of  their  unhappy  situation ;  never- 
theless it  seemed  sweet  and  poetic. 

The  attraction  which  the  people  exercises  upon  re- 
fined and  cultivated  minds  is  not  surprising.  Who 
has  not  sometimes  experienced  with  terrible  keenness 
what  may  be  called  the  aesthetic  effect  of  collectivity  ? 
A  regiment  forming,  the  crew  of  a  ship  about  to 
weigh  anchor,  a  procession,  an  angry  mob,  —  these 
have  something  about  them  that  is  epic  and  sublime ; 
so  any  peasant,  if  we  see  in  him  an  epitome  of  race 


THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES.  79 

or  class,  with  his  historic  consequence  and  his  un- 
conscious majesty,  may  and  ought  to  interest  us. 
The  payo  of  Avila  who  passes  me  indifferently  in  the 
street ;  the  beggar  in  Burgos  who  asks  an  alms  with 
courteous  dignity,  wrapped  in  his  tattered  clothes  as 
though  they  were  garments  of  costly  cloth ;  the  Gal- 
lician  lad  who  guides  his  yoke  of  oxen  and  creaking 
cart,  —  these  not  only  stir  in  my  soul  a  sentiment  of 
patriotism,  but  they  have  for  me  an  aesthetic  charm 
which  I  never  feel  in  the  presence  of  a  dress-coat 
and  a  stiff  hat.  Perhaps  this  effect  depends  rather 
on  the  spectator,  and  it  may  be  our  fancy  that  pro- 
duces it ;  for,  as  regards  the  Russian  peasant,  those 
who  know  him  well  say  that  he  is  by  nature  practical 
and  positive,  and  not  at  all  inclined  to  the  romantic 
and  sentimental.  The  Sclav  race  is  a  rich  poetic 
wellspring,  but  it  depends  upon  what  one  means  by 
poetry.  For  example,  in  love  matters,  the  Russian 
peasant  is  docile  and  prosaic  to  the  last  degree.  The 
hardy  rustic  is  supposed  to  need  two  indispensable 
accessories  for  his  work,  —  a  woman  and  a  horse ;  the 
latter  is  procured  for  him  by  the  head  or  old  man  of 
the  house,  the  former  by  the  old  woman ;  the  wed- 
ding is  nothing  more  than  the  matriculation  of  the 
farmer;  the  pair  is  incorporated  with  the  great 
family,  the  agricultural  commune,  and  that  is  the  end 
of  the  idyl.  Amorous  and  gallant  conduct  among 
peasants  would  be  little  fitting,  given  the  low  esti- 
mation in  which  women  are  held.  Although  the 
Russian  peasant  considers  the  woman  independent, 
subject  neither  to  father  nor  husband,  invested  with 


8o  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

equal  rights  with  men ;  and  although  the  widow  or 
the  unmarried  woman  who  is  head  of  the  house  takes 
part  in  the  deliberations  of  the  mir  and  may  even 
exercise  in  it  the  powers  of  a  mayor  (and  in  order 
to  preserve  this  independence  many  peasant-women 
remain  unmarried),  this  consideration  is  purely  a 
social  one,  and  individually  the  woman  has  no  rights 
whatever.  A  song  of  the  people  says  that  seven 
women  together  have  not  so  much  as  one  soul, 
rather  none  at  all,  for  their  soul  is  smoke.  The 
theory  of  marriage  relations  is  that  the  husband  ought 
to  love  his  wife  as  he  does  his  own  soul,  to  measure 
and  treasure  her  as  he  does  his  sheepskin  coat :  the 
rod  sanctions  the  contract.  In  some  provinces  of 
Finnish  or  Tartar  origin  the  bride  is  still  bought  and 
sold  like  a  head  of  cattle  ;  it  is  sometimes  the  custom 
still  to  steal  her,  or  to  feign  a  rape,  symbolizing  in- 
deed the  idea  of  woman  as  a  slave  and  the  booty  of 
war.  So  rigorous  is  the  matrimonial  yoke,  that  par- 
ricides are  numerous,  and  the  jury,  allowing  attenu- 
ating circumstances,  generally  pardons  them. 

Tikomirov,  who,  though  a  radical,  is  a  wise  and 
sensible  man,  says,  that  far  from  considering  the 
masses  of  the  people  as  models  worthy  of  imitation, 
he  finds  them  steeped  in  absolute  ignorance,  the 
victims  of  every  abuse  and  of  administrative  immor- 
ality; deprived  for  many  centuries  of  intercourse 
with  civilized  nations,  they  have  not  outgrown  the 
infantile  period,  they  are  superstitious,  idolatrous,  and 
pagan,  as  shown  by  their  legends  and  popular  songs. 
They  believe  blindly  in  witchcraft,  to  the  extent  that 


THE  AGRARIAN  COMMUNES.  8 1 

to  discredit  a  political  party  with  them  one  has  only 
to  insinuate  that  it  is  given  to  the  use  of  sorcery  and 
the  black  arts.  The  peasant  has  also  an  unconquer- 
able propensity  to  stealing,  lying,  servility,  and  drunk- 
enness. Wherefore,  then,  is  he  judged  superior  to 
the  other  classes  of  society? 

In  spite  of  the  puerile  humility  to  which  the  Rus* 
sian  peasant  is  predisposed  by  long  years  of  sub- 
jection, he  yet  obeys  a  democratic  impulse  toward 
equality,  which  servitude  has  not  obliterated;  the 
Russian  does  not  understand  the  English  peasant's 
respect  for  the  gentleman,  nor  the  French  reverence 
for  the  chevalier  well-dressed  and  decorated.  When 
the  government  of  Poland  ordered  certain  Cossack 
executions  of  the  nobility,  these  children  of  the 
steppes  asked  one  another,  "  Brother,  has  the  shadow 
of  my  body  increased?"  Taught  to  govern  him- 
self, thanks  to  the  municipal  regimen,  the  Russian 
peasant  manifests  in  a  high  degree  the  sentiment  of 
human  equality,  an  idea  both  Christian  and  demo- 
cratic, rather  more  deeply  rooted  in  those  countries 
governed  by  absolute  monarchy  and  municipal  lib- 
erty, than  in  those  of  parliamentary  institutions.  The 
Spaniard  says,  "  None  lower  than  the  King ; "  the 
Russian  says  the  same  with  respect  to  the  Czar. 
Primitive  and  credulous,  a  philosopher  in  his  way, 
the  dweller  on  the  Russian  steppes  wields  a  dynamic 
force  displayed  in  history  by  collectivities,  be  the 
moral  value  of  the  individual  what  it  may.  In  na- 
tions like  Russia,  in  which  the  upper  classes  are 
educated  abroad,  and  are,  like  water,  reflectors  and 

6 


82  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

nothing  more,  the  originality,  the  poetry,  the  epic 
element,  is  always  with  the  masses  of  the  people, 
which  comes  out  strong  and  beautiful  in  supreme 
moments,  a  faithful  custodian  of  the  national  life, 
as  for  example  when  the  butcher  Minine  saved  his 
country  from  the  yoke  of  Sweden,  or  when,  before 
the  French  invasion  of  1812,  they  organized  bands  of 
guerillas,  or  set  fire  to  Moscow. 

Hence  in  Russia,  as  in  France  prior  to  the  Revolu- 
tion, many  thinkers  endeavor  to  revive  the  antiquated 
theory  of  the  Genevan  philosopher,  and  proclaim  the 
superiority  of  the  natural  man,  by  contact  with  whom 
society,  infected  with  Occidental  senility,  must  be 
regenerated.  Discouraged  by  the  incompatibility 
between  the  imported  European  progress  and  the 
national  tradition,  unable  to  still  the  political  strife  of 
a  country  where  pessimist  solutions  are  most  natural 
and  weighty,  their  patriotism  now  uplifts,  now  shatters 
their  hopes,  even  in  the  case  of  those  who  disclaim 
and  condemn  individual  patriotism,  such  as  Count 
Tolstoi ;  and  then  ensues  the  apotheosis  of  the  past, 
the  veneration  of  national  heroes  and  of  the  people. 
"The  people  is  great,"  says  Turguenief  in  his  novel 
"  Smoke  ;  "  "  we  are  mere  ragamuffins."  And  so  the 
people,  which  still  bears  traces  of  the  marks  of  servi- 
tude, has  been  converted  into  a  mysterious  divinity, 
the  inspiration  of  enthusiastic  canticles. 


SOCIAL  CLASSES  IN  RUSSIA.  83 

VII. 

SOCIAL  CLASSES   IN  RUSSIA. 

PROPERLY  speaking,  there  are  no  social  classes  in 
Russia,  a  phenomenon  which  explains  to  some  extent 
the  political  life  and  internal  constitution  ;  there  is  no 
co-ordinate  proportion  between  the  rural  and  the 
urban  element,  and  at  first  sight  one  sees  in  this 
vast  empire  only  the  innumerable  mass  of  peasants, 
just  as  on  the  map  one  sees  only  a  wide  and  monoto- 
nous plain.  Although  it  is  true  that  a  rural  and 
commercial  aristocracy  did  arise  and  flourish  in  old 
Moscow  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  the 
era  of  invasions,  yet  the  passions  of  the  wars  that 
followed  gave  it  the  death-blow.  The  middle  classes 
in  the  rich  and  independent  republics  lost  their 
wealth  and  influence,  and  the  people,  being  unable 
of  themselves  to  reorganize  the  State,  sustained  the 
princes,  who  soon  became  autocrats,  ready  at  the 
first  chance  to  subdue  the  nobles  and  unite  the 
disintegrated  and  war-worn  nation.  With  the  sub- 
division into  independent  principalities  and  the  in- 
stitution of  democratic  municipalities  the  importance 
of  the  cities  decreased,  and  the  privileged  classes 
were  at  an  end.  The  middle  class  is  the  least 
important.  In  the  same  districts  where  formerly  it 
was  most  powerful  it  has  been  dissolved  by  the  con- 


84  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

tinuous  infusion  of  the  peasant  element,  owing  to  the 
curious  custom  of  emigration,  which  is  spontaneous 
with  this  nomadic  and  colonizing  people.  Many 
farmers,  although  enrolled  in  the  rural  villages,  spend 
a  large  part  of  the  year  in  the  city,  filling  some  office, 
and  forming  a  hybrid  class  between  the  rural  and 
artisan  classes,  thus  sterilizing  the  natural  instincts  of 
the  laboring  proletariat  by  the  enervation  of  city  life. 
The  emperors  were  not  blind  to  the  disproportion 
between  the  civic  and  rural  elements,  and  have  en- 
deavored to  remedy  it.  The  industrial  and  commer- 
cial population  fled  from  the  cities  to  escape  the  taxes  ; 
therefore  they  promulgated  laws  prohibiting  emigra- 
tion and  the  renunciation  of  civic  rights,  under  severe 
penalties.  Yet  with  all  these  the  cities  have  taken 
but  a  second  place  in  Russian  history.  Western  an- 
nals are  full  of  sieges,  defences,  and  mutinies  of  cities ; 
in  Russia  we  hear  only  of  the  insurrection  of  wander- 
ing tribes  or  hordes  of  peasants.  Russian  cities  exist 
and  live  only  at  the  mandate  or  protection  of  the 
emperor.  Every  one  knows  what  extraordinary 
means  were  taken  by  Peter  the  Great  to  build  St. 
Petersburg  upon  the  swamps  along  the  Neva;  in 
twenty-three  years  that  remarkable  woman  called  the 
Semiramis  of  the  North  founded  no  less  than  two 
hundred  and  sixteen  cities,  determined  to  create  a 
mesocratic  element,  to  the  lack  of  which  she  attributed 
the  ignorance  and  misery  of  her  empire.  Whenever 
we  see  any  rapid  advancement  in  Russia  we  may  be 
sure  it  is  the  work  of  autocracy,  a  beneficence  of  des- 
potism (that  word  so  shocking  to  our  ears).  It  was 


SOCIAL  CLASSES  IN  RUSSIA.  85 

despotism  which  created  the  modern  capital  opposite 
the  old  Byzantine,  legendary,  retrogressive  town,  —  the 
new  so  different  from  the  old,  so  full  of  the  revolu- 
tionary spirit,  its  streets  undermined  by  conspirators, 
its  pavements  red  with  the  blood  of  a  murdered  Czar. 
These  cities,  colleges,  schools,  universities,  theatres, 
founded  by  imperial  and  autocratic  hands,  were  the 
cradle  of  the  political  unrest  that  rebels  against  their 
power ;  were  there  no  cities,  there  would  be  no  revo- 
lutions in  Russia.  Although  they  do  not  harbor 
crowds  of  famishing  authors  like  those  of  London  and 
Paris,  who  lie  in  wait  for  the  day  of  sack  and  ruin,  yet 
they  are  full  of  a  strange  element  composed  of  people 
of  divers  extraction  and  condition,  and  of  small  in- 
tellect, but  who  call  themselves  emphatically  the  intel- 
ligence of  Russia. 

I  have  felt  compelled  to  render  justice  to  the  good 
will  of  the  autocrats ;  and  to  be  equally  just  I  must 
say  that  whatever  has  advanced  culture  in  Russia 
has  proceeded  from  the  nobility,  and  this  without 
detriment  to  the  fact  that  the  larger  energies  lie  with 
the  masses  of  the  people.  The  enlightenment  and 
thirst  for  progress  manifested  by  the  nobility  is  every- 
where apparent  in  Russian  history.  They  are  de- 
scended from  the  retinues  of  the  early  Muscovite 
Czars,  to  whom  were  given  wealth  and  lands  on  con- 
dition of  military  service,  and  they  are  therefore  in 
their  origin  unlike  any  other  European  nobility ;  they 
have  known  nothing  of  feudalism,  nor  the  Germanic 
symbolism  of  blazons,  arms,  titles,  and  privileges, 
pride  of  race  and  notions  of  caste :  these  have  had 


86  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

no  influence  over  them.  The  Boyars,  who  are  the 
remnants  of  the  ancient  territorial  aristocracy,  on 
losing  their  sovereign  rights,  rallied  round  the  Czar 
in  the  quality  of  court  councillors,  and  received  gold 
and  treasure  in  abundance,  but  never  the  social  im- 
portance of  the  Spanish  grandee  or  the  French  baron. 
Hence  the  Russian  aristocracy  was  an  instrument  of 
power,  but  without  class  interests,  replenished  con- 
tinually by  the  infusion  of  elements  from  other  social 
classes,  for  no  barrier  prevented  the  peasant  from 
becoming  a  merchant  and  the  merchant  from  becom- 
ing a  noble,  if  the  fates  were  kind  There  are  legally 
two  classes  of  aristocracy  in  Russia,  —  the  transmis- 
sible, or  hereditary,  and  the  personal,  which  is  not 
hereditary.  If  the  latter  surprise  us  for  a  moment, 
it  soon  strikes  us  with  favor,  since  we  all  acknowledge 
to  an  occasional  or  frequent  protest  against  the  idea 
of  hereditary  nobility,  as  when  we  lament  that  men 
of  glorious  renown  are  represented  by  unworthy  or 
insignificant  descendants.  In  Russia,  Krilof,  the 
^Esop  of  Moscow,  as  he  is  called,  put  this  protest 
into  words  in  the  fable  of  the  peasant  who  was  lead- 
ing a  flock  of  geese  to  the  city  to  sell.  The  geese 
complained  of  the  unkindness  with  which  they  were 
treated,  adding  that  they  were  entitled  to  respect  as 
being  the  descendants  of  the  famous  birds  that  saved 
the  Capitol,  and  to  whom  Rome  had  dedicated  a 
feast.  "And  what  great  thing  have  you  done?" 
asked  the  peasant.  "We?  Oh,  nothing."  "Then 
to  the  oven  !  "  he  replied. 

The  only  title  of  purely  national  origin  in  Russia 


SOCIAL   CLASSES  IN  RUSSIA.  87 

is  that  of  prince ; 1  all  others  are  of  recent  importa- 
tion from  Europe ;  in  the  family  of  the  prince,  as  in 
that  of  the  humblest  mujik,  the  sons  are  equals  in 
rights  and  honors,  and  the  fortune  of  the  father,  as 
well  as  his  title,  descends  equally  to  all.  Feudalism, 
the  basis  of  nobility  as  a  class,  never  existed  in 
Russia :  according  to  Sclavophiles,  because  Russia 
never  suffered  conquest  in  those  ancient  times ;  ac- 
cording to  positivist  historians,  by  reason  of  geo- 
graphical structure  which  did  not  favor  seignorial 
castles  and  bounded  domains,  or  any  other  of  those 
appurtenances  of  feudalism  dear  to  romance  and 
poetry,  and  really  necessary  to  its  existence,  —  the 
moated  wall,  the  mole  overhanging  some  rocky  preci- 
pice washed  by  an  angry  torrent,  and  below  at  its 
foot,  like  a  hen-roost  beneath  a  vulture's  nest,  the 
clustered  huts  of  the  vassals.  But  we  have  seen  that 
the  Russian  nobility  acknowledges  no  law  of  superi- 
ority ;  like  the  people,  they  hold  the  idea  of  divisible 
and  common  property.  Hence  this  aristocracy, 
less  haughty  than  that  of  Europe,  ruled  by  imperial 
power,  subject  until  the  time  of  Peter  III.  to  insult- 
ing punishment  by  whip  or  rod,  and  which,  at  the 
caprice  of  the  Czar,  might  at  any  time  be  degraded 

1  "  The  term  translated  '  prince '  perhaps  needs  some  explanation. 
A  Russian  prince  may  be  a  bootblack  or  a  ferryman.  The  word 
kniaz  denotes  a  descendant  of  any  of  the  hundreds  of  petty  rulers, 
who  before  the  time  of  the  unification  of  Russia  held  the  land. 
They  all  claim  descent  from  the  semi-mythical  Rurik ;  and  as  every 
son  of  a  kniaz  bears  the  title,  it  may  be  easily  imagined  how  numer- 
ous they  are.  The  term  '  prince,'  therefore,  is  really  a  too  high- 
sounding  title  to  represent  it."  —  NATHAN  HASKELL  DOLE. 


88  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

to  the  quality  of  buffoons  for  any  neglect  of  a  code 
of  honor  imposed  by  the  traditions  of  their  race,  — 
never  drew  apart  from  the  life  of  the  nation,  and, 
on  the  contrary,  was  always  foremost  in  intellec- 
tual matters.  Russian  literature  proves  this,  for  it 
is  the  work  of  the  Russian  nobility  mainly,  and  the 
ardent  sympathy  for  the  people  displayed  in  it  is 
another  confirmation.  Tolstoi",  a  noble,  feels  an  irre- 
pressible tenderness,  a  physical  attraction  toward  the 
peasant ;  Turguenief.  a  noble  and  a  rich  man,  in  his 
early  years  consecrated  himself  by  a  sort  of  vow  to 
the  abolition  of  servitude. 

The  same  lack  of  class  prejudices  has  made  the 
Russian  nobility  a  quick  soil  for  the  repeated  ingraft- 
ing of  foreign  culture  according  to  the  fancy  of  the 
emperors.  Catherine  II.  found  little  difficulty  in 
modelling  her  court  after  that  of  Versailles ;  but  the 
same  aristocracy  that  powdered  and  perfumed  itself 
at  her  behest  adopted  more  important  reforms  to  a 
degree  that  caused  Count  Rostopchine  to  exclaim, 
"  I  can  understand  the  French  citizen's  lending  a 
hand  in  the  revolution  to  acquire  his  rights,  but  I 
cannot  understand  the  Russian's  doing  the  same  to 
lose  his."  They  are  so  accustomed  to  holding  the 
first  place  in  intellectual  matters,  that  no  privilege 
seems  comparable  to  that  of  standing  in  the  van- 
guard of  advanced  thought.  They  had  been  urged 
to  frequent  the  lyceums  and  debating  societies,  to 
take  up  serious  studies  and  scientific  education  by 
the  word  of  rulers  who  were  enlightened,  and  friends 
to  progress  (as  were  many  of  them),  when  all  at 


SOCIAL  CLASSES  IN  RUSSIA.  89 

once  sciences  and  studies,  books  and  the  press,  began 
to  be  suspected,  the  censorship  was  established,  and 
the  conspiracy  of  December  was  the  signal  for  the 
rupture  between  authority  and  the  liberal  thought  of 
the  country.  But  the  nobles  who  had  tasted  of  the 
fruit  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  did  not  re- 
sign themselves  easily  to  the  limited  horizon  offered 
by  the  School  of  Pages  or  the  antechamber  of  the 
palace ;  their  hand  was  upon  the  helm,  and  rather 
than  let  it  go  they  generously  immolated  their  mate- 
rial interests  and  social  importance.  The  aristocracy 
is  everywhere  else  the  support  of  the  throne,  but  in 
Russia  it  is  a  destroying  element;  and  while  the 
people  remains  attached  to  the  autocrat,  the  nobles 
learn  in  the  very  schools  founded  by  the  emperors 
to  pass  judgment  upon  the  supreme  authority  and  to 
criticise  the  sovereign.  Nicholas  I.  did  not  fail  to 
realize  that  these  establishments  of  learning  were 
focuses  of  revolutionary  ardor,  and  he  systematically 
reduced  the  number  of  students  and  put  limits  to 
scientific  education. 

It  follows  that  the  most  reactionary  class,  or  the 
most  unstable  class  in  Russia,  the  class  painted  in 
darkest  colors  by  the  novelists  and  used  as  a  target 
for  their  shafts  by  the  satirists,  is  not  the  noble  but 
the  bureaucratic,  the  office-holders,  the  members  of 
the  tchin  (an  institution  Asiatic  in  form,  comparable 
perhaps  to  a  Chinese  mandarinate).  Peter  the 
Great,  in  his  zeal  to  set  everything  in  order,  drew 
up  the  famous  categories  wherein  the  Russian  official 
microcosm  is  divided  into  a  double  series  of  fourteen 


90  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

grades  each,  from  ecclesiastical  dignitaries  to  the 
military.  This  Asiatic  sort  of  machinery  (though 
conceived  by  the  great  imitator  of  the  West)  became 
generally  abhorred,  and  excited  a  national  antipathy, 
less  perhaps  for  its  hollow  formalism  than  on  account 
of  the  proverbial  immorality  of  the  officers  catalogued 
in  it.  Mercenariness,  pride,  routine,  and  indolence 
are  the  capital  sins  of  the  Russian  office-holder,  and 
the  first  has  so  strong  a  hold  upon  him  that  the 
people  say,  "  To  make  yourself  understood  by  him 
you  must  talk  of  rubles ;  "  adding  that  in  Russia 
everybody  robs  but  Christ,  who  cannot  because  his 
hands  are  nailed  down.  Corruption  is  general;  it 
mounts  upward  like  a  turbid  wave  from  the  hum- 
blest clerk  to  the  archduke,  generalissimo,  or  admiral. 
It  is  a  tremendous  ulcer,  that  can  only  be  cured 
by  a  cautery  of  literary  satire,  the  avenging  muse  of 
Gogol,  and  the  dictatorial  initiative  of  the  Czars.  In 
a  country  governed  by  parliamentary  institutions  it 
would  be  still  more  difficult  to  apply  a  remedy. 

The  contrast  is  notable  between  the  odium  inspired 
by  the  bureaucracy  and  the  sympathy  that  greets  the 
municipal  institutions,  —  not  only  those  of  a  patriarchal 
character  such  as  the  mir,  but  those  too  of  a  more 
modern  origin.  Among  the  latter  may  be  mentioned 
the  zemsti'o,  or  territorial  assembly,  analogous  to  our 
provincial  deputations,  but  of  more  liberal  stripe, 
and  entirely  decentralized.  In  this  all  classes  are 
represented,  and  not,  as  in  the  mir,  the  peasants 
merely.  The  form  of  this  local  parliament  is  ex- 
tremely democratic ;  the  cities,  the  peasants,  and  the 


SOCIAL  CLASSES  IN  RUSSIA.  91 

property-holders  elect  separate  representatives,  and 
the  assembly  devotes  itself  to  the  consideration  of 
plain  but  interesting  practical  questions  of  hygiene, 
salubrity,  safety,  and  public  instruction.  This  offers 
another  opportunity  to  the  nobility,  for  this  body 
engages  itself  particularly  with  the  well-being  and 
progress  of  the  poorer  classes,  in  providing  physicians 
for  the  villages  in  place  of  the  ignorant  herb-doctors, 
in  having  the  mujiks  taught  to  read,  and  in  guard- 
ing their  poor  wooden  houses  from  fire. 

While  the  Russian  nobility  has  never  slept,  the 
Russian  clergy,  on  the  contrary,  has  been  permanently 
wrapped  in  lethargy.  The  role  accorded  to  the 
Greek  Church  is  dull  and  depressing,  a  petrified 
image,  fixed  and  archaic  as  the  icons,  or  sacred 
pictures,  which  still  copy  the  coloring  and  design  of 
the  Byzantine  epoch.  Ever  since  it  was  rent  by 
schism  from  the  parent  trunk  of  Catholicism,  life  has 
died  in  its  roots  and  the  sap  has  frozen  in  its  veins. 
Since  Peter  the  Great  abolished  the  Patriarchy,  the 
ecclesiastical  authority  resides  in  a  Synod  composed 
of  prelates  elected  by  the  government.  According 
to  the  ecclesiastical  statutes,  the  emperor  is  Head 
of  the  church,  supreme  spiritual  chief;  and  though 
there  has  been  promulgated  no  dogma  of  his  infalli- 
bility, it  amounts  to  the  same  in  effect,  for  he  may 
bind  and  loose  at  will.  At  the  Czar's  command  the 
church  anathematizes,  as  when  for  example  to-day 
the  popes  are  ordered  to  preach  against  the  growing 
desire  for  partition  of  land,  against  socialism,  and 
against  the  political  enemies  of  the  government ;  the 


92  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

priest  is  given  a  model  sermon  after  which  he  must 
pattern  his  own ;  and  such  is  his  humiliation  that 
sometimes  he  is  obliged  by  order  of  the  Synod  to 
send  information,  obtained  through  his  office  as  con- 
fessor, to  the  police,  thus  revealing  the  secrets  of 
confiding  souls.  What  a  loss  of  self-respect  must 
follow  such  a  proceeding  !  Is  it  a  marvel  that  some 
independent  schismatics  called  raskolniks,  revivalists 
and  followers  of  ancient  rites  and  truths,  should 
thrive  upon  the  decadence  of  the  official  clergy,  who 
are  subjected  to  such  insulting  servitude  and  must 
give  to  Caesar  what  belongs  to  God? 

In  view  of  these  facts  it  is  in  vain  to  boast  of 
spiritual  independence  and  say  that  the  Greek 
church  knows  no  head  but  Christ.  The  government 
makes  use  of  the  clergy  as  of  one  arm  more,  which, 
however,  is  now  almost  powerless  through  corruption. 
The  Oriental  church  has  no  conception  of  the  noble 
devotion  which  has  honored  Catholicism  in  the 
lives  of  Saint  Thomas  of  Canterbury  and  Cardinal 
Cisneros. 

The  Russian  clergy  is  divided  into  black  and  white, 
or  regular  and  secular ;  the  former,  powerful  and 
rich,  rule  in  ecclesiastical  administration ;  the  latter 
vegetate  in  the  small  villages,  ill  paid  and  needy, 
using  their  wits  to  live  at  the  expense  of  their  parish- 
ioners, and  to  wheedle  them  out  of  a  dozen  eggs  or  a 
handful  of  meal.  Is  it  strange  that  the  parishioner 
respects  them  but  little  ?  Is  it  strange  that  the  pope 
lives  in  gross  pride  or  scandalous  immorality,  and 
that  we  read  of  his  stealing  money  from  under  the 


SOCIAL  CLASSES  IN  RUSSIA.  93 

pillow  of  a  dying  man,  of  one  who  baptized  a  dog, 
of  another  who  was  ducked  in  a  frozen  pond  by  his 
barino,  or  landlord,  for  the  amusement  of  his  guests  ? 
It  is  true  that  a  few  occasional  facts  prove  nothing 
against  a  class,  and  that  malice  will  produce  from 
any  source  hurtful  anecdotes  and  more  or  less  pro- 
fane details  touching  sacred  things ;  but  to  my  mind, 
that  which  tells  most  strongly  against  the  Russian 
clergy  is  its  inanity,  its  early  intellectual  death,  which 
shut  it  out  completely  from  scientific  reflection,  con- 
troversy, and  apology,  and  therefore  from  all  philoso- 
phy, —  realms  in  which  the  Catholic  clergy  has 
excelled.  Like  a  stripped  and  lifeless  trunk  the 
Oriental  church  produces  no  theologians,  thinkers, 
or  savants.  There  are  none  to  elaborate,  define,  and 
ramify  her  dogmas ;  the  human  mind  in  her  sounds 
no  depths  of  mystery.  If  there  are  no  conflicts  be- 
tween religion  and  science  in  Russia,  it  is  because 
the  Muscovite  church  weighs  not  a  shadow  with  the 
free-thinkers. 

Certainly  the  adherents  and  members  of  the  earlier 
church  bear  away  the  palm  for  culture  and  spiritual 
independence.  At  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, after  the  struggles  with  Sweden  and  Poland,  the 
schismatic  church  aroused  the  national  conscience, 
and  satisfied,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  moral  needs  of 
a  race  naturally  religious  by  temperament  It  began 
to  discuss  liturgical  minutiae,  and  persecuted  delin- 
quents so  fiercely  that  it  infused  all  dissenters  with  a 
spirit  of  protest  against  an  authority  which  was  dis- 
posed to  treat  them  like  bandits  or  wild  beasts.  Such 


94  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

persecution  demonstrates  the  fact  that  not  only  eccle- 
siastical but  secular  power  is  irritated  by  heterodoxy. 
In  Russia,  whose  slumbering  church  is  unmoved 
even  by  a  thunder-bolt,  an  instinct  of  orderliness  led 
the  less  devout  of  the  emperors  against  the  schis- 
matics. To-day  there  are  from  twelve  to  fifteen  mil- 
lions of  schismatics  and  sects ;  and  many  among  them 
are  given  to  the  coarsest  superstitions,  practise  ob- 
scene and  cruel  rites,  worship  the  Devil,  and  mutilate 
themselves  in  their  insane  fervors.  Probably  Russia 
is  the  only  country  in  the  civilized  world  to-day  where 
superstition,  quietism,  and  mysticism,  without  law  or 
limit,  grow  like  poisonous  trees ;  and  in  my  work 
on  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi  I  have  remarked  how  the 
communist  heresies  of  the  Middle  Ages  have  sur- 
vived there  in  the  North.  Some  authors  affirm  that 
the  clergy  shut  their  eyes  and  open  their  hands  to 
receive  hush-money  for  their  tolerance  of  heterodoxy. 
But  let  us  not  be  too  ready  always  to  believe  the 
worst.  Only  lately  there  fell  into  my  hands  an  article 
written  by  that  much  respected  author,  Melchior  de 
Voguie,  who  assures  us  that  he  has  observed  signs  of 
regeneration  in  many  Russian  parishes. 

From  this  review  of  social  classes  in  Russia  it  may 
be  deduced  that  the  peasant  masses  are  the  reposi- 
tory of  national  energies,  while  the  nobility  has  until 
now  displayed  the  most  apparent  activity.  The  proof 
of  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  consideration  of  a  mem- 
orable historical  event,  —  the  greatest  perhaps  that 
the  present  century  has  known,  —  the  emancipation 
of  the  serfs. 


RUSSIAN  SERFDOM.  95 

VIII. 

RUSSIAN    SERFDOM. 

RUSSIA  boasts  of  never  having  known  that  black 
stain  upon  ancient  civilizations,  slavery ;  but  the  pre- 
tension, notwithstanding  many  allegations  thereto  in 
her  own  chronicles,  is  refuted  by  Herodotus,  who 
speaks  of  the  inhuman  treatment  inflicted  by  the  Scyth- 
ians on  their  slaves,  even  putting  out  their  eyes  that 
they  might  better  perform  certain  tasks  ;  and  the  same 
historian  refers  to  the  treachery  of  the  slaves  to  their 
masters  in  raping  the  women  while  they  were  at  war 
with  the  Medes,  and  to  the  insurrection  of  these 
slaves  which  was  put  down  by  the  Scythians  by  means 
of  the  whip  alone,  —  the  whip  being  in  truth  a  charac- 
teristic weapon  of  a  country  accustomed  to  servitude. 
Herodotus  does  say  in  another  place  that  "  among 
the  Scythians  the  king's  servants  are  free  youths 
well-born,  for  it  is  not  the  custom  in  Scythia  to  buy 
slaves ;  "  from  which  it  may  be  inferred  that  the 
slaves  were  prisoners  of  war.  Howbeit,  Russian  au- 
thors insist  that  in  their  country  serfs  were  never 
slaves,  and  serfdom  was  rather  an  abuse  of  the  power 
of  the  nobility  and  the  government  than  an  historic 
natural  result. 

To  my  mind  this  is  not  so  ;  and  I  must  say  that 
I  think  servitude  had  an  actual  beginning,  and  that 
there  was  a  cause  for  it.  The  Muscovite  empire  was 
but  sparsely  populated,  and  the  population  was  by 


g6  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

temperament  adventurous,  nomadic,  restless,  and  ex- 
pansive. We  have  observed  that  the  limitless  plains 
of  Russia  offer  no  climatic  antagonisms,  for  the  reason 
that  there  are  no  climatic  boundaries  ;  but  it  was  not 
merely  the  love  of  native  province  that  was  lacking 
in  the  Russian,  but  the  attachment  to  the  paternal 
roof  and  to  the  home  village.  It  is  said  that  the 
origin  of  this  sentiment  is  embedded  in  rock ;  where 
dwellings  are  built  of  wood  and  burn  every  seven 
years  on  an  average,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  the 
paternal  roof,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  home.  With 
his  hatchet  in  his  belt  the  Russian  peasant  will  build 
another  house  wherever  a  new  horizon  allures  him. 
But  if  the  scanty  rural  population  scatters  itself  over 
the  steppes,  it  will  be  lost  in  it  as  the  sand  drinks  in 
the  rain,  and  the  earth  will  remain  unploughed  and 
waste ;  there  will  be  nothing  to  tax,  and  nobody  to 
do  military  service.  Therefore,  about  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  when  all  the  rest  of  Europe  was 
beginning  to  feel  the  stirrings  of  political  liberty  and 
the  breath  of  the  Renaissance,  the  Regent,  Boris 
Godonof,  riveted  the  chains  of  slavery  upon  the  wrists 
of  many  millions  of  human  beings  in  Russia.  It  is 
very  true  that  Russian  servitude  does  not  mean  the 
subjection  of  man  to  man,  but  to  the  soil ;  for  the 
decree  of  Godonof  converted  the  peasant  into  a  slave 
merely  by  abrogating  the  traditional  right  of  the 
"black  man"  to  change  his  living-place  on  Saint 
George's  day.  The  peasant  perceived  no  other 
change  in  his  condition  than  that  of  finding  himself 
fastened,  chained,  bound  to  the  soil.  The  Russian 


JKUSSIAN  SERFDOM.  97 

word  which  we  translate  "serf"  means  "consolidated," 
"adherent." 

It  is  easy  to  see  the  historical  transition  from  the 
free  state  to  that  of  servitude.  The  military  and  po- 
litical organization  of  the  Russian  State  in  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries  hedged  in  the  peasant's  lib- 
erty of  action,  and  his  situation  began  to  resemble 
that  of  the  Roman  colonus,  or  husbandman,  who  was 
neither  "  bond  nor  free."  When  the  nation  was  con- 
stituted upon  firmer  bases,  it  seemed  indispensable  to 
fix  every  man's  limitation,  to  range  the  population  in 
classes,  and  to  lay  upon  them  obligations  consistent 
with  the  needs  of  the  empire.  These  bonds  were 
imposed  just  as  the  other  peoples  of  Europe  were 
breaking  away  from  theirs. 

Servitude,  or  serfdom,  did  not  succeed  throughout 
the  empire,  however.  Siberia  and  the  independent 
Cossacks  of  the  South  rejected  it ;  only  passive  con- 
sent could  sanction  a  condition  that  was  not  the  fruit 
of  conquest  nor  had  as  an  excuse  the  right  of  the 
strongest.  Even  in  the  rest  of  Russia  the  peasant 
never  was  entirely  submissive,  never  willingly  bent 
his  neck  to  the  yoke,  and  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth centuries  witnessed  bitter  and  sanguinary 
uprisings  of  the  serfs,  who  were  prompt  to  follow 
the  first  impostor  who  pronounced  words  of  promise  ; 
and,  strange  to  say,  what  was  most  galling  was  his 
entail  upon  the  land  rather  than  the  deprivation 
of  his  own  liberty.  He  imagined  that  the  lord  of 
the  whole  earth  was  the  Czar,  that  by  his  favor 
it  was  temporarily  in  possession  of  the  nobles,  but 
7 


93  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

that  in  truth  and  justice  it  belonged  to  him  who 
tilled  it.  Pugatchef,  the  pretender  to  the  title  of 
Peter  III.,  in  order  to  rally  to  his  standard  an 
innumerable  host  of  peasants,  called  himself  the 
rural  emperor,  and  declared  that  no  sooner  should 
he  gain  the  throne  of  his  ancestors  than  he  would 
shower  treasure  upon  the  nobles  and  restore  the 
land  to  the  tillers  of  it. 

Those  who  forged  the  fetters  of  serfdom  had  little 
faith  in  the  stability  of  it,  however.  And  although 
the  abuses  arising  out  of  it  were  screened  and  tacitly 
consented  to,  —  and  never  more  so  than  during  the 
reign  of  the  humane  philosopher,  friend,  and  corre- 
spondent of  Voltaire,  the  Empress  Catherine  II.,  — 
yet  law  and  custom  forever  refused  to  sanction  them. 
Russian  serfdom  assumed  rather  a  patriarchal  char- 
acter, and  this  softened  its  harshness.  It  was  con- 
sidered iniquitous  to  alienate  the  serfs,  and  it  was 
only  lawful  in  case  of  parting  with  the  land  whereon 
those  serfs  labored ;  in  this  way  was  preserved  the 
thin  line  of  demarcation  between  agrarian  servitude 
and  slavery. 

There  were,  however,  serfs  in  worse  condition, 
true  helots,  namely,  the  domestic  servants,  who  were 
at  the  mercy  of  the  master's  caprice,  like  the  fowls  in 
his  poultry-yard.  Each  proprietor  maintained  a  nu- 
merous household  below  stairs,  useless  and  idle  as 
a  rule,  whose  children  he  brought  up  and  had  in- 
structed in  certain  ways  in  order  to  hire  them  out 
or  sell  them  by  and  by.  The  players  in  the  theatres 
were  generally  recruited  from  this  class,  and  until 


RUSSIAN  SERFDOM.  99 

Alexander  I.  prohibited  such  shameless  traffic,  it 
was  not  uncommon  to  see  announced  in  the  papers 
the  sale  of  a  coachman  beside  that  of  a  Holstein 
cow.  But  like  every  other  institution  which  violates 
and  offends  human  conscience,  Russian  serfdom 
could  not  exist  forever,  in  spite  of  some  political 
and  social  advantages  to  the  empire. 

Certain  Russian  writers  affirm  that  the  assassina- 
tion of  masters  and  proprietors  was  of  frequent 
occurrence  in  the  days  of  serfdom,  and  that  even 
now  the  peasant  is  disposed  to  quarrels  and  acts 
of  violence  against  the  nobles.  Yet,  on  the  whole, 
I  gather  from  my  reading  on  the  subject  that  the 
relations  in  general  between  the  serf  and  the  master 
were,  on  the  one  side,  humble,  reverent,  and  filial ; 
on  the  other,  kind,  gentle,  and  protecting.  The 
important  question  for  the  peasant  is  that  of  the 
practical  ownership  of  the  land.  It  is  not  his  free- 
dom but  his  agrarian  rights  that  have  been  restored 
to  him;  and  this  must  be  borne  in  mind  in  order 
to  understand  why  the  recent  emancipation  has  not 
succeeded  in  pacifying  the  public  mind  and  bringing 
about  a  new  and  happy  Russia. 

Given  the  same  problem  to  the  peasant  and  the 
man  of  mind,  it  will  be  safe  to  say  that  they  will 
solve  it  in  very  different  ways,  if  not  in  ways  diamet- 
rically opposed.  The  peasant  will  be  guided  by 
the  positive  and  concrete  aspect  of  the  matter ;  the 
man  of  mind  by  the  speculative  and  ideal.  The 
peasant  calculates  the  influence  of  atmospheric  phe- 
nomena upon  his  crops,  while  the  other  observes 


100  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

the  beauty  of  the  sunset  or  the  tranquillity  of  the 
night.  In  social  questions  the  peasant  demands 
immediate  utility,  no  matter  how  small  it  may  be, 
while  the  other  demands  the  application  of  princi- 
ples and  the  triumph  of  ideas.  Under  the  care  of 
a  master  the  Russian  serf  enjoyed  a  certain  material 
welfare,  and  if  he  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  good  master  — 
and  Russian  masters  have  the  reputation  of  being 
in  general  excellent  —  his  situation  was  not  only 
tolerable  but  advantageous.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
intelligent  could  not  put  up  with  the  monstrous 
and  iniquitous  fact  of  human  liberty  being  submitted 
to  the  arbitrary  rule  of  a  master  who  could  apply 
the  lash  at  will,  sell  men  like  cattle,  and  dispose 
as  he  would  of  bodies  and  souls.  Where  this  exists, 
since  Christ  came  into  the  world,  either  there  is 
no  knowledge,  or  the  ignominy  must  be  stamped 
out. 

We  all  know  that  celebrated  story  of  "  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,"  the  famous  Abolitionist  novel  by 
Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.  There  were  also 
novelists  in  Russia  who  set  themselves  to  plead  for 
the  emancipation  of  the  serfs.  But  there  is  a  dif- 
ference between  them  and  the  North  American 
authoress,  in  that  the  Russians,  in  order  to  achieve 
their  object,  had  no  need  to  exaggerate  the  reality, 
to  paint  sensitive  slaves  and  children  that  die  of  pity, 
but,  with  an  artistic  instinct,  they  appealed  to  aesthetic 
truth  to  obtain  human  justice.  "  Dead  Souls,"  by 
Gogol,  or  one  of  the  poetical  and  earnest  brochures 
of  Turguenief,  awakens  a  more  stirring  and  perma- 


RUSSIAN  SERFDOM.  IOI 

nent  indignation  than  the  sentimental  allegory  of 
Mrs.  Stowe ;  and  neither  Gogol  nor  Turguenief  mis- 
represented the  serf  or  defamed  the  master,  but 
rather  they  present  to  us  both  as  they  were  in 
life,  scorning  recourse  to  bad  taste  for  the  sake 
of  capturing  tender  hearts.  The  noblest  sentiments 
of  the  soul,  divine  compassion,  equity,  righteous 
vengeance,  the  generous  pity  that  moves  to  sacrifice, 
rise  to  the  inspired  voice  of  great  writers;  we  see 
the  abuse,  we  feel  it,  it  hurts  us,  it  oppresses  us, 
and  by  a  spontaneous  impulse  we  desire  the  good 
and  abhor  the  evil.  This  enviable  privilege  has 
been  granted  to  the  Russian  novelists;  had  they 
no  greater  glory,  this  would  suffice  to  save  them 
from  oblivion. 

The  Abolitionist  propaganda  subtly  and  surely 
spread  through  the  intelligent  classes,  created  an 
opinion,  communicated  itself  naturally  to  the  press 
in  as  far  as  the  censor  permitted,  and  little  by  little 
the  murmur  grew  in  volume,  like  that  raised  against 
the  administrative  corruption  after  the  Crimean  War. 
And  it  is  but  just  to  add  that  the  Czars  were  never 
behind  in  this  national  movement.  Had  it  not  been 
for  their  omnipotent  initiative,  who  knows  if  even 
now  slavery  would  not  stain  the  face  of  Europe? 
There  is  reason  to  believe  it  when  one  sees  the 
obstacles  that  hinder  other  reforms  in  Russia  in  which 
the  autocrat  takes  no  part.  Doubtless  the  mind  of 
the  emperor  was  influenced  by  the  words  of  Alex- 
ander II.,  in  1856,  to  the  Muscovite  nobles  :  "  It  is 
better  to  abolish  serfdom  by  decrees  from  above  than 


102  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

to  wait  for  it  to  be  destroyed  by  an  impulse  from 
below."  A  purely  human  motive ;  yet  in  every  gen- 
erous act  there  may  be  a  little  egotistical  leaven. 
Let  us  not  judge  the  unfortunate  Emancipator  too 
severely. 

The  Crimean  War  and  its  grave  internal  conse- 
quences aided  to  undermine  the  infamous  institution 
of  serfdom,  at  the  same  time  that  it  disclosed  the 
hidden  cancer  of  the  administration,  the  misgovern- 
ment  and  ruin  of  the  nation.  With  the  ill  success  of 
the  campaign,  Russia  clearly  saw  the  need  for  self- 
examination  and  reorganization.  Among  the  many 
and  pressing  questions  presented  to  her,  the  most 
urgent  was  that  of  the  serfs,  and  the  impossibility  of 
re-forming  a  prosperous  State,  modern  and  healthy, 
while  this  taint  existed  within  her.  Alexander  II., 
whose  variability  and  weakness  are  no  bar  to  his 
claim  of  the  honored  title  of  the  Liberator,  exhorted 
the  aristocracy  to  consummate  this  great  work,  and 
(a  self-abnegation  worthy  of  all  praise,  and  which 
only  a  blind  political  passion  can  deny  them)  the 
nobles  coincided  and  co-operated  with  him  with  per- 
fect good  faith,  and  even  with  the  electrical  enthusi- 
asm characteristic  of  the  Sclavic  race.  One  cannot 
cease  to  extol  this  noble  act,  which,  taken  as  a  whole, 
is  sublime,  although,  being  the  work  of  large  num- 
bers, it  may  be  overloaded  with  details  and  incidents 
in  which  the  interest  flags.  It  may  be  easy  to  preach 
a  reform  whose  aims  do  not  hurt  our  pride,  shatter 
our  fortunes,  alter  our  way  of  living,  or  conflict  with 
the  ideas  inculcated  upon  us  in  childhood  by  our 


RUSSIAN  SERFDOM.  103 

parents ;  but  to  do  this  to  one's  own  detriment  de- 
serves especial  recognition.  The  nobility  on  this 
occasion  only  put  into  practice  certain  theories  which 
had  stirred  in  their  hearts  of  old.  The  first  great 
Russian  poet,  Prince  Kantemire,  wrote  in  1738,  in 
his  satires,  that  Adam  did  not  beget  nobles,  nor  did 
Noah  save  in  the  ark  any  but  his  equals,  —  humble 
husbandmen,  famous  only  for  their  virtues.  To  my 
mind  the  best  praise  to  the  Russian  nobility  is  for 
having  offered  less  hindrance  to  the  emancipation  of 
the  serfs  than  the  North  American  democracy  to  the 
liberation  of  the  slaves ;  and  I  solicit  especial  applause 
for  this  self-sacrificing,  redeeming  aristocracy. 

The  fruits  of  the  emancipation  were  not  what 
desire  promised.  The  peasants,  from  their  positivist 
point  of  view,  set  little  value  on  liberty  itself,  and 
scarcely  understood  it.  "  We  are  yours,"  they  were 
accustomed  to  say  to  their  masters ;  "  but  the  soil  is 
ours."  When  it  became  known  that  they  must  go 
on  paying  even  for  the  goods  of  the  community,  they 
rebelled ;  they  declared  that  emancipation  was  a 
farce,  a  lie,  and  that  true  emancipation  ought  to 
abolish  rent  and  distribute  the  land  in  equal  parts. 
Did  not  the  proclamation  of  the  Czar  read  that  they 
were  free?  Well,  freedom,  in  their  language,  meant 
emancipation  from  labor,  and  the  possession  of  the 
land.  One  mir  even  sent  a  deputation  to  the  gov- 
ernor, announcing  that  as  he  had  been  a  good  master 
he  would  still  be  allowed  the  use  and  profit  of  his 
house  and  farm.  The  peasant  believed  himself  free 
from  all  obligation,  and  even  refused  to  work  until 


104  THE  EVOLUTION  OP  RUSSIA. 

the  government  forced  him  to  do  so ;  and  the  result 
was  that  the  lash  and  the  rod  were  never  so  fre- 
quently laid  across  Russian  shoulders  as  in  the  first 
three  years  of  emancipation  and  liberty. 

What  cared  they  —  "the  little  black  men"  —  for 
the  dignity  of  the  freeman  or  the  rights  of  citi- 
zenship? That  which  laid  strongest  hold  of  their 
primitive  imagination  was  the  desire  to  possess  the 
whole  land,  —  the  old  dream  of  what  they  called  the 
black  partition,  the  national  Utopia.  One  Russian 
revolutionary  journal  adopted  the  name  of  "  Land 
and  Liberty,"  a  magic  motto  to  a  peasant  country, 
giving  the  former  the  first  place,  or  at  least  making 
the  two  synonymous.  The  Russian  people  ask  no 
political  rights,  but  rather  the  land  which  is  watered 
by  the  sweat  of  their  brow;  and  if  some  day  the 
anarchists  —  the  agitators  who  go  from  village  to 
village  propagating  their  sanguinary  doctrines  —  suc- 
ceed in  awakening  and  stirring  this  Colossus  to 
action,  it  will  be  by  touching  this  tender  spot  and 
alluring  by  the  promise  of  this  traditional  dream. 
The  old  serf  lives  in  hopes  of  a  Messiah,  be  he 
emperor  or  conspirator,  who  shall  deliver  the  earth 
into  his  hands ;  and  at  times  the  vehemence  of  this 
insatiable  desire  brings  forth  popular  prophets,  who 
announce  that  the  millennium  is  at  hand,  and  that  by 
the  will  of  Heaven  the  land  is  to  be  divided  among 
the  cultivators  thereof.  From  his  great  love  to  the 
autocrat  the  peasant  believes  that  he  also  desires  this 
distribution,  but  being  hampered  by  his  counsellors 
and  menaced  by  his  courtiers,  he  cannot  authorize 


RUSSIAN  SERFDOM.  105 

it  yet.  "  For,"  says  the  peasant,  "  the  land  never 
belonged  to  the  lords,  but  first  to  the  sovereign  and 
then  to  the  mir"  The  idea  of  individual  pro- 
prietorship is  so  repugnant  to  this  people  that 
they  say  that  even  death  is  beautiful  shared  in 
common. 

All  the  schismatic  sects  in  Russia  preach  com- 
munity of  possessions.  Some  among  them  live  better 
than  the  orthodox  Greeks ;  some  are  voluntarily  con- 
secrated to  absolute  poverty,  such  as  characterized 
the  early  orders  of  mendicants,  and  literally  give  their 
cloak  to  him  who  asks ;  but  both  the  more  temperate 
and  the  fanatics  agree  in  the  faith  of  the  general 
and  indisputable  right  of  man  to  possess  the  land  he 
cultivates. 

With  society  as  with  the  individual,  after  great 
effort  comes  prostration,  after  a  sudden  change,  in- 
evitable uneasiness.  So  with  Russian  emancipation. 
Although  in  some  localities  the  condition  of  the 
peasants  was  ameliorated,  in  others  their  misery  and 
retrogression  seemed  only  to  increase,  and  led  them 
to  pine  for  the  old  bonds.  The  abuse,  arbitrariness, 
and  cruelty  which  are  cited,  and  which  shock  the 
nerves  of  Westerners,  caused  no  alarm  to  the  Russian 
peasant,  who  was  well  used  to  baring  his  back  in 
payment  for  any  delinquency.  The  worst  extent  to 
which  the  master  allowed  his  anger  to  spend  itself 
was  an  unlimited  number  of  stripes ;  and  this  very 
punishment,  which  to-day  no  master  would  inflict, 
and  which  the  law  expressly  forbids,  is  still  frequently 
imposed  by  the  peasant  tribunals  of  the  volost  or 


106  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  RUSSIA. 

canton ;  their  confidence  in  its  efficacy  is  well 
grounded,  and  it  is  well  authorized  by  custom  and 
experience.  What  the  peasant  fears  and  hates  most 
is  not  the  rod  or  the  whip,  but  the  rent-collector,  the 
tax-gatherer,  the  burden  of  the  taxes  themselves,  and 
hunger. 

What  must  be  the  aesthetic  and  political  deter- 
mination of  this  race,  which  prefers  the  possession  of 
the  soil  to  the  liberty  of  the  individual?  In  litera- 
ture, toward  a  plain  and  candid  realism ;  in  form  of 
government,  a  communist  absolutism.  The  abstract 
constitutional  idea,  which,  in  spite  of  its  Anglo-Saxon 
origin,  meets  perfectly  the  ideal  entertained  by  Latin 
minds,  has  no  charm  for  the  Sclav.  Yet  at  the  same 
time  the  Russian  combines,  with  his  practical  and 
concrete  notions  of  life  and  his  preponderating  sense 
of  realism,  a  dreamy  and  childlike  imagination,  which 
acts  upon  him  like  a  dangerous  dose  of  opium. 

In  the  next  essay  I  propose  to  show  how  there  has 
grown  up  within  this  patient  and  submissive  rural 
people,  and  has  finally  burst  forth,  that  most  terri- 
ble of  revolutionary  volcanoes,  nihilism. 


1300ft  II. 

RUSSIAN    NIHILISM    AND    ITS 
LITERATURE. 


I. 

THE  WORD  "NIHILISM.' 


I  HAVE  scarcely  realized  until  now  the  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  the  subject  I  am  treating.  To  talk  of 
nihilism  is  an  audacious  undertaking,  and  in  spite  of 
all  my  endeavors  to  hold  the  balance  true,  and  to 
consider  calmly  the  social  phenomena  and  the  litera- 
ture into  which  it  has  infiltrated,  I  shall  perhaps  not 
be  able  to  avoid  a  note  of  partiality  or  emotion. 
To  some  I  shall  seem  too  indulgent  with  the  Russian 
revolutionaries,  and  they  may  say  of  me,  as  of 
M.  Leroy-Beaulieu,  that  my  opinions  are  imbibed 
from  official  sources  and  my  words  taken  from  the 
mouth  of  reactionaries. 

The  first  stumbling-block  is  the  word  "  nihilism." 
In  Tikomirov's  work  on  Russia  seven  or  eight  pages 
are  devoted  to  the  severe  condemnation  of  the  use  of 
the  expressions  "  nihilism  "  and  "  nihilist."  Never- 
theless, at  the  risk  of  offending  my  friend  the  author, 
I  must  make  use  of  them,  since,  as  he  himself  allows, 


108    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

they  are  employed  universally,  and  all  the  world 
understands  what  is  meant  by  them  in  an  approxi- 
mate and  relative  way.  I  do  not  reject  the  term 
proposed  by  Tikomirov,  who  would  call  nihilism 
"  the  militant  intelligence ; "  but  this  is  much  too 
long  and  obscure,  and  before  accepting  it,  it  behooves 
one  to  understand  what  is  meant  by  Russian  intelli- 
gence. The  nihilists  call  themselves  by  a  variety  of 
names,  —  democrats,  socialists,  propagandists,  new 
men,  or  sometimes  by  the  title  of  some  organ  of 
their  clandestine  press.  This  war  of  names  seems 
puerile,  and  I  prefer  to  face  the  fury  of  Tikomirov 
against  those  who  not  only  use  the  objectionable 
term  but  dedicate  a  chapter  to  what  it  represents,  and 
study  nihilism  as  a  doctrine  or  tendency  distinct 
among  all  that  have  arisen  until  now.  I  cannot 
agree  to  the  idea  that  nihilism  is  merely  a  Russian 
intellectual  movement,  nor  do  I  think  that  all  Europe 
is  mistaken  in  judging  that  the  nihilist  explosions  are 
characteristic  of  the  great  Sclav  empire.  On  the 
contrary,  I  believe  that  if  Russia  were  to-morrow 
blotted  from  the  map,  and  her  history  and  every 
trace  of  her  national  individuality  obliterated,  only  a 
few  pages  of  her  romances  and  a  few  fragments  of 
her  revolutionary  literature  being  left  to  us,  a  phi- 
losopher or  a  critic  could  reconstruct,  without  other 
data,  the  spirit  of  the  race  in  all  its  integrity  and 
completeness. 

Now,  to  begin,  how  did  this  much-discussed  word 
originate  ?  It  was  a  novelist  who  first  baptized  the 
party  who  called  themselves  at  that  time  new  men. 


THE   WORD  "NIHILISM."  1 09 

It  was  Ivan  Turguenief,  who  by  the  mouth  of  one  of 
the  characters  in  his  celebrated  novel,  "  Fathers  and 
Sons,"  gave  the  young  generation  the  name  of 
nihilists.  But  it  was  not  of  his  coinage ;  Royer- 
Collard  first  stamped  it;  Victor  Hugo  had  already 
said  that  the  negation  of  the  infinite  led  directly  to 
nihilism,  and  Joseph  Lemaistre  had  spoken  of  the 
nihilism,  more  or  less  sincere,  of  the  contemporary 
generations;  but  it  was  reserved  for  the  author  of 
"  Virgin  Soil "  to  bring  to  light  and  make  famous 
this  word,  which  after  making  a  great  stir  in  his  own 
country  attracted  the  attention  of  the  whole  world. 

The  reign  of  Nicholas  I.  was  an  epoch  of  hard 
oppression.  When  he  ascended  the  throne,  the 
conspiracy  of  the  Decembrists  broke  out,  and  this 
sudden  revelation  of  the  revolutionary  spirit  steeled 
the  already  inflexible  soul  of  the  Czar.  Nicholas, 
although  fond  of  letters  and  an  assiduous  reader  of 
Homer,  was  disposed  to  throttle  his  enemies,  and 
would  not  have  hesitated  to  pluck  out  the  brains  of 
Russia;  he  was  very  near  suppressing  all  the  uni- 
versities and  schools,  and  inaugurating  a  voluntary 
retrocession  to  Asiatic  barbarism.  He  did  mutilate 
and  reduce  the  instruction,  he  suppressed  the  chair 
of  European  political  laws,  and  after  the  events  of 
1848  in  France  he  seriously  considered  the  idea  of 
closing  his  frontiers  with  a  cordon  of  troops  to  beat 
back  foreign  liberalism  like  the  cholera  or  the  plague. 
Those  who  have  had  a  near  view  of  this  Iron  Czar 
have  described  him  to  me  as  tall,  straight,  stiff,  always 
in  uniform,  a  slave  to  his  duties  as  sovereign,  the 


1 10    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITER  A  TURE. 

living  personification  of  the  autocrat,  and  called,  not 
without  reason,  the  Quixote  of  absolutism.  At  the 
close  of  a  life  devoted  to  the  fanatical  inculcation  of 
his  convictions,  this  inflexible  emperor,  who  believed 
himself  to  be  guided  by  the  Divine  hand,  saw  only 
the  dilapidation  and  ruin  of  his  country,  which  then 
started  up  dismayed  and  raised  a  cry  of  reprobation, 
a  chorus  of  malediction  against  the  emperor  and 
the  order  of  things  established  by  him.  Satire  cried 
out  in  strident  and  indignant  tones,  and  spit  in  the 
face  of  the  Czar  with  terrible  anathemas.  "Oh, 
Emperor,"  it  said  to  him,  "  Russia  confided  the 
supreme  power  to  you ;  you  were  as  a  god  upon  the 
earth.  What  have  you  done  ?  Blinded  by  ignorance 
and  selfishness,  you  longed  for  power  and  forgot 
Russia ;  you  spent  your  life  in  reviewing  troops,  in 
changing  uniforms,  in  signing  decrees.  You  created 
the  vile  race  of  press-censors,  so  that  you  might  sleep 
in  peace,  that  you  might  ignore  the  needs  of  the 
people,  and  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  their  cries ;  and  the 
truth  you  buried  deep,  and  rolled  a  great  stone  over 
the  door  of  the  sepulchre,  and  put  a  guard  over  it, 
so  that  you  might  think  in  your  proud  heart  that  it 
would  never  rise  again.  But  the  light  of  the  third 
day  is  breaking,  and  truth  will  come  forth  from  among 
the  dead."  And  so  the  great  autocrat  heard  the 
crash  of  the  walls  that  he  had  built  with  callous  hands 
and  cemented  with  the  blood  and  tears  of  two 
millions  of  human  beings  whom  he  had  exiled  to 
Siberia.  Perhaps  the  inflexible  principles,  the  main- 
spring of  his  hard  soul,  gave  way  then ;  but  it  was 


THE   WORD  "NIHILISM."  m 

indeed  too  late  to  give  the  lie  to  his  whole  life,  and 
according  to  well-authenticated  reports  he  sought  a 
sure  and  speedy  death  by  wilful  exposure  to  the 
rigors  of  the  terrible  climate.  "  I  cannot  go  back," 
were  the  dying  words  of  this  upright  and  consistent 
man,  who,  notwithstanding  his  hardness,  was  yet  not 
a  tyrant. 

However,  it  was  under  his  sceptre,  under  his  syste- 
matic suppression,  that,  by  confession  of  the  great 
revolutionary  statesman  Herzen,  Russian  thought 
developed  as  never  before  ;  that  the  emancipation  of 
the  intelligence,  which  this  very  statesman  calls  a 
tragic  event,  was  accomplished,  and  a  national  litera- 
ture was  brought  to  light  and  began  to  flourish. 
When  Alexander  II.  succeeded  to  the  throne,  when 
the  bonds  of  despotism  were  loosened  and  the  block- 
ade with  which  Nicholas  vainly  tried  to  isolate  his 
empire  was  raised,  the  field  was  ready  for  the  intel- 
lectual and  political  strife. 

Russia  is  prone  to  violent  extremes  in  everything. 
No  social  changes  are  brought  about  in  her  with 
the  slow  gradations  which  make  transitions  easy  and 
avoid  shocks  and  collisions.  In  the  rest  of  Europe 
modern  scientific  progress  was  due  to  numerous 
coincident  causes,  such  as  the  Renaissance,  the  art 
of  printing,  the  discovery  of  America ;  but  in  Russia 
the  will  of  the  autocrat  was  the  motor,  and  the  coun- 
try was  forced  and  surprised  into  it.  And  when  this 
drowsy  land  one  day  shakes  off  its  lethargy  and  takes 
note  of  the  latent  political  effervescence  within  itself, 
it  will  be  with  the  same  fiery  earnestness,  the  same 


112     RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITER  A  TURE. 

exaggeration,  the  same  logical  directness,  straight  to 
the  end,  even  though  that  end  culminate  in  absurdity. 

Before  explaining  how  nihilism  is  the  outcome  of 
intelligence,  we  must  understand  what  is  meant  by 
intelligence  in  Russia.  It  means  a  class  composed  of 
all  those,  of  whatever  profession  or  estate,  who  have 
at  heart  the  advancement  of  intellectual  life,  and 
contribute  in  every  way  toward  it.  It  may  be  said, 
indeed,  that  such  a  class  is  to  be  found  in  every 
country ;  but  there  is  this  difference,  —  in  other  coun- 
tries the  class  is  not  a  unit ;  there  are  factions,  or  a 
large  number  of  its  members  shun  political  and  social 
discussion  in  order  to  enjoy  the  serene  atmosphere  of 
the  world  of  art,  while  in  Russia  the  intelligence  means 
a  common  cause,  a  homogeneous  spirit,  subversive 
and  revolutionary  withal.  To  write  a  history  of  mod- 
ern literature,  particularly  of  the  novel,  in  Russia,  is 
equivalent  to  writing  the  history  of  the  revolution. 

The  subversive,  dissolvent  character  of  this  intelli- 
gence —  working  now  tacitly,  now  openly,  and  with 
a  candor  surprising  in  a  country  subjected  to  such 
suspicious  censorship  —  explains  why  the  czars,  once 
the  protectors  of  the  arts,  have  become  since  the 
middle  of  this  century  so  out  of  humor  with  authors, 
books,  and  the  press.  We  have  heard  of  one  em- 
peror—  the  cleverest  of  them  all  —  who  in  the  in- 
terest of  his  reforms  had  his  own  son  whipped  to 
death.  Russian  art,  also  son  of  the  czars,  figuratively 
speaking,  received  scarcely  better  treatment  when  it 
signified  a  desire  to  stand  on  its  own  feet. 

Long  and  painful  is  the  list  of  persecutions  directed 


ORIGIN  OP  INTELLECTUAL  REVOLUTION.     113 

against  the  growth  of  Thought,  in  prose  and  verse, 
and  above  all  against  illustrious  men.  But  we  must 
make  a  distinction,  so  as  not  to  be  unjust.  Herzen, 
exiled  and  deprived  of  all  his  possessions,  and  the 
famous  martyr  Tchernichewsky,  confined  twenty  and 
odd  years  in  a  Siberian  prison  or  fortress,  do  not 
arouse  our  astonishment,  for  they  suffered  the  com- 
mon fate  of  the  political  agitator  j  but  it  seems  a  pity 
that  such  artists  as  Dostoievsky  and  Turguenief  should 
suffer  any  such  infliction  at  all.  All  Russian  litera- 
ture is  charged  with  a  revolutionary  spirit ;  but  there 
is  the  same  difference  between  those  authors  whose 
aim  is  political  and  those  who  merely  speak  of 
Russia's  wounds  when  occasion  offers,  that  there  is 
between  those  who  are  licentious  and  those  who  are 
simply  open  and  candid.  And  by  this  I  do  not 
mean  to  compare  the  nihilist  writers  with  licentious 
ones,  nor  to  convey  any  stigma  by  my  words.  I 
merely  say  that  when  literature  deliberately  attacks 
established  society,  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
obliges  the  latter  to  defend  itself  even  to  persecuting 
its  adversary. 

II. 

ORIGIN   OF   THE   INTELLECTUAL   REVOLUTION. 

WHENCE  came  the  revolutionary  element  in  Russia  ? 
From  the  Occident,  from  France,  from  the  negative, 
materialist,  sensualist  philosophy  of  the  Encyclopaedia 
imported  into  Russia  by  Catherine  II. ;  and  later 


1 14    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

from  Germany,  from  Kantism  and  Hegelianism,  im- 
bibed by  Russian  youth  at  the  German  universities, 
and  which  they  diffused  throughout  their  own  coun- 
try with  characteristic  Sclav  impetuosity.  By  "  Pure 
Reason"  and  transcendental  idealism,  Herzen  and 
Bakunine,  the  first  apostles  of  nihilism,  were  in- 
spired. But  the  ideas  brought  from  Europe  to 
Russia  soon  allied  themselves  with  an  indigenous 
or  possibly  an  Oriental  element ;  namely,  a  sort  of 
quietist  fatalism,  which  leads  to  the  darkest  and  most 
despairing  pessimism.  On  the  whole,  nihilism  is 
rather  a  philosophical  conception  of  the  sum  of  life 
than  a  purely  democratic  and  revolutionary  move- 
ment. Since  the  beginning  of  this  century  Europe 
has  seen  mobs  and  revolutions,  dynasties  wrecked 
and  governments  overturned ;  but  these  were  politi- 
cal disturbances,  and  not  the  result  of  mind  diseased 
or  anguish  of  soul. 

Nihilism  had  no  political  color  about  it  at  the 
beginning.  During  the  decade  between  1860  and 
1870  the  youth  of  Russia  was  seized  with  a  sort  of 
fever  for  negation,  a  fierce  antipathy  toward  every- 
thing that  was,  —  authorities,  institutions,  customary 
ideas,  and  old-fashioned  dogmas.  In  Turgueniefs 
novel,  "  Fathers  and  Sons,"  we  meet  with  Bazarof, 
a  froward,  ill-mannered,  intolerable  fellow,  who  rep- 
resents this  type.  After  1871  the  echo  of  the  Paris 
Commune  and  emissaries  of  the  Internationals  crossed 
the  frontier,  and  the  nihilists  began  to  bestir  them- 
selves, to  meet  together  clandestinely,  and  to  send 
out  propaganda.  Seven  years  later  they  organized 


ORIGIN  OF  INTELLECTUAL  REVOLUTION.      115 

an  era  of  terror,  assassination,  and  explosions.  Thus 
three  phases  have  followed  upon  one  another, — 
thought,  word,  and  deed,  —  along  that  road  which 
is  never  so  long  as  it  looks,  the  road  that  leads  from 
the  word  to  the  act,  from  Utopia  to  crime. 

And  yet  nihilism  never  became  a  political  party 
as  we  understand  the  term.  It  has  no  defined  creed 
or  official  programme.  The  fulness  of  its  despair 
embraces  all  negatives  and  all  acute  revolutionary 
forms.  Anarchists,  federalists,  cantonalists,  covenant- 
ers, terrorists,  all  who  are  unanimous  in  a  desire  to 
sweep  away  the  present  order,  are  grouped  under 
the  ensign  of  nihil. 

The  frenzy  which  thus  moves  a  whole  people  to 
tear  their  hair  and  rend  their  garments  has  at 
bottom  an  element  of  passionate  melancholy  born  of 
just  and  noble  aspirations  crushed  by  fatal  circum- 
stances. We  have  seen  what  Nature  and  history  have 
made  of  Russia, — a  nation  civilized  by  violence, 
whose  natural  and  harmonious  development  was 
checked,  and  which  was  isolated  from  Europe  as 
soon  as  the  ruling  powers  perceived  the  dangers 
likely  to  ensue  from  communication  therewith.  The 
impulse  of  youth  toward  the  unknown  and  the  new, 
toward  vague  dreams  and  abstractions,  was  thus  ex- 
asperated ;  and  from  out  the  seminaries,  universities, 
and  schools,  from  the  ranks  of  the  nobility  and  from 
the  bosom  of  the  literature,  there  arose  a  host  com- 
posed of  women  hungering  for  the  ideal,  and  young 
students,  poor  in  pocket  and  position,  who  gave 
themselves  up  to  a  Bohemian  sort  of  life  well  cal- 


1 1 6    R  U SSI  AN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LIT  ERA  TURK. 

culated  to  set  at  nought  society  and  the  world  in 
general.  A  Russian  friend  once  told  me  that  seeing 
a  mtfjik  looking  very  dejected  and  melancholy  he 
asked  what  was  the  matter,  and  received  answer, 
"  Sir,  we  are  a  sick  people."  His  reply  defines  the 
whole  race  ;  and  of  all  the  explanations  of  nihilism, 
that  which  describes  it  as  a  pathological  condition  of 
the  nation  is  perhaps  the  most  accurate. 

One  must  be  prudent,  however,  in  calling  an  in- 
tellectual phenomenon  based  upon  historical  reasons 
a  sickness  or  dementia ;  and  above  all  one  must  not 
confound  the  mental  exaltation  of  the  enthusiast 
with  the  vagaries  of  the  unsound  mind.  We  do  not 
allow  ourselves  to  call  him  a  fool  who  does  not  think 
as  we  do,  nor  even  him  who  leaves  the  beaten  com- 
mon track  for  dizzy  heights  above  our  ken.  No 
reformer  or  other  great  man,  however,  has  escaped 
the  insinuation  of  foolishness,  not  even  Saint  Francis 
of  Assisi,  who  openly  professed  idiocy.  But  we  have 
a  kind  of  sympathy  for  madness  of  a  speculative 
character,  —  the  sort  of  lunacy  which  makes  man- 
kind dream  sometimes  that  material  good  does  not 
entirely  satisfy,  that  makes  it  yearn  anxiously  for 
something  that  it  may  never  obtain  on  this  earth. 

To  begin  with,  is  nihilism  pure  negation?  No. 
Pure  negation  conceives  nothing  further,  and  what- 
ever it  denies  it  affirms  at  the  same  time.  Nihilism, 
or  to  use  their  own  term,  Russian  intelligence,  con- 
tains the  germs  of  social  renovation ;  and  before 
referring  to  its  political  history  I  will  explain  some  of 
its  strange  and  curious  doctrines. 


WOMAN  AND   THE  FAMILY.  117 

III. 

WOMAN  AND  THE   FAMILY. 

AMONG  the  most  important  of  the  nihilist  doctrines 
is  that  which  refers  to  the  condition  of  woman  and 
the  constitution  of  the  family ;  and  the  attempt  radi- 
cally to  modify  things  so  guarded  and  so  sacred 
presupposes  an  extraordinary  power  in  the  moving 
principle.  The  state  of  woman  in  Russia  has  been 
far  more  bitter  and  humiliating  than  in  the  rest  of 
Europe  ;  she  wore  her  face  covered  with  the  Oriental 
veil  until  an  empress  dared  to  cast  it  aside,  —  to  the 
great  horror  of  the  court ;  among  the  peasants  she 
was  a  beast  of  burden ;  among  the  nobles  an  oda- 
lisque ;  in  the  most  enlightened  classes  of  society  the 
whip  hung  at  the  head  of  the  bed  as  a  symbol  of 
the  husband's  authority.  The  law  did  not  keep  her 
perpetually  a  minor,  as  with  us,  but  allowed  her  to 
administer  her  property  freely ;  yet  the  invisible  and 
unwritten  bonds  of  custom  made  this  freedom  illusory. 
The  new  ideas  have  changed  all  this,  however,  and 
to-day  the  Russian  woman  is  more  nearly  equal  to 
the  man  in  condition,  more  free,  intelligent,  and  re- 
spected than  elsewhere  in  Europe.  Even  the  peas- 
ants, accustomed  to  bestow  a  daily  allowance  of  the 
lash  upon  their  women,  are  beginning  to  treat  them 
with  more  gentleness  and  regard,  for  they  realize, 
tardily  though  certainly,  the  worth  of  the  ideas  of 


1 1 8    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITER  A  TURE. 

justice  deduced  from  the  Gospels,  which  once  planted 
can  never  be  rooted  out.  Their  conquests  are  final. 
A  few  years  hence  the  conjugal  relation  in  Russia  will 
be  based  on  ideas  of  equality,  fraternity,  and  mutual 
respect.  I  have  never  gone  about  preaching  eman- 
cipation or  demanding  rights,  but  I  am  nevertheless 
quite  capable  of  appreciating  everything  that  savors 
of  equity. 

The  great  Russian  romantic  poet,  Lermontof,  la- 
mented the  moral  inferiority  of  the  women  of  his 
country.  "  Man,"  said  this  Russian  Byron,  "  should 
not  be  satisfied  with  the  submission  of  his  slave  or 
the  devotion  of  his  dog;  he  needs  the  love  of  a 
human  being  who  will  repay  insight  for  insight,  soul 
for  soul."  This  noble  aspiration,  derived  from  the 
profound  Platonic  allegory  of  the  two  soul-halves 
that  seek  each  other  and  thereby  find  completion, 
the  Russian  intelligence  desired  to  realize,  and  as 
a  step  toward  it  procured  participation  for  woman 
in  intellectual  and  political  life;  she,  on  her  part, 
proved  her  worth  by  bringing  to  nihilism  a  passionate 
devotion,  absolute  faith,  and  initiative  energy.  When 
the  early  Christians  rehabilitated  the  pagan  woman, 
somewhat  the  same  thing  happened,  and  a  tender 
gratitude  toward  the  gentle  Nazarene  led  virgins  and 
matrons  to  vie  with  strong  men  in  the  heroism  dis- 
played in  the  amphitheatre. 

But  in  our  times  the  systematic  efforts  toward 
female  emancipation  have  a  tendency  to  stumble 
into  absurdities.  To  show  to  what  an  extent  con- 
jugal equality  has  been  carried  in  certain  Russian 


WOMAN  AND   THE  FAMILY.  119 

families  of  humble  position,  I  was  told  that  the  wife 
cooks  one  day  and  the  husband  the  next !  At  the 
beginning  of  the  reign  of  Alexander  II.  the  longing 
for  feminine  independence  was  expressed  in  the 
wearing  of  short  hair,  blue  spectacles,  and  extraor- 
dinary dress ;  in  smoking,  in  scorn  of  neatness,  and  the 
assumption  of  viragoish  and  disgusting  manners.  The 
serious  side  of  the  movement  led  them  on  the  other 
hand  to  study,  to  throw  themselves  into  every  career 
open  to  them,  to  show  a  brave  front  in  the  hospitals 
of  typhus  and  the  plague,  to  win  honors  in  the 
clinics,  and  to  practise  medicine  in  the  small  villages 
with  noble  self-abnegation,  seriousness,  and  sagacity. 

It  is  worthy  of  note,  in  examining  Russian  revolu- 
tionary tendencies,  that  political  rights  are  a  secon- 
dary consideration,  and  that  they  go  down  to  the  root 
of  the  matter,  and  seek  first  to  reclaim  natural  rights. 
In  countries  that  are  under  parliamentary  regimen, 
half  of  the  human  race  is  judicially  and  civilly  the 
servant  of  the  other  half;  while  in  the  classic  land  of 
absolutism  all  parts  are  equal  before  the  law,  espe- 
cially among  the  reformatory  class,  the  nobility. 

There  is  one  fact  in  this  connection  which,  though 
rather  dubious  on  the  face  of  it,  is  yet  so  original 
and  typical  that  it  ought  not  to  be  omitted.  Owing 
to  these  modifications  in  the  social  condition  of 
women,  and  also  to  political  circumstances,  we  are 
told  that  one  frequently  hears  in  Russia  —  among  the 
intelligent  class  particularly  —  of  a  sort  of  free  unions, 
having  no  other  bond  than  the  mutual  willingness  of 
the  contracting  parties,  and  marked  by  singular  char- 


120    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

acteristics.  Some  of  these  unions  may  be  compared 
to  the  espousals  of  Saint  Cecilia  and  her  husband, 
Saint  Valerian,  or  to  the  nuptials  of  the  legendary 
'hero  separated  by  a  naked  sword  from  the  bride. 
The  Russians  call  this  a  fictitious  marriage.  It 
sometimes  happens  that  a  young  girl,  bold,  deter- 
mined, and  full  of  a  longing  for  life,  —  in  the  social 
sense  of  the  word,  —  leaves  the  paternal  roof  and 
takes  up  her  abode  under  that  of  another  man. 
Having  obtained  the  liberty  and  individuality  enjoyed 
by  the  married  woman,  the  protector  and  the  protegee 
maintain  a  fraternal  friendship  mutually  and  willingly 
agreed  to.  In  Turgueniefs  novel,  "Virgin  Soil,"  a 
young  lady  runs  away  from  her  uncle's  house  with  the 
tutor,  a  young  nihilist  poet,  with  whom  she  believes 
herself  to  be  deeply  in  love ;  but  she  finds  out  that 
what  she  really  loved  and  craved  was  liberty,  and  the 
chance  to  practise  her  politico-social  principles ;  and 
as  these  two  runaways  live  in  chastity,  the  heroine 
finally,  and  without  any  conscientious  scruples,  mar- 
ries another  poet,  also  a  nihilist,  but  more  practical 
and  intelligent,  who  has  really  succeeded  in  interest- 
ing her  heart. 

Is  such  a  voluntary  restriction  the  result  of  a  hy- 
peraesthesia  of  the  fancy,  natural  to  an  age  of  perse- 
cution, in  which  those  who  fight  for  and  defend  an 
idea  are  ready  at  any  moment  to  go  to  the  gallows 
for  its  sake?  Is  it  mere  woman's  pride  demanding 
for  her  sex  liberty  and  franchises  which  she  scorns  to 
make  use  of?  Is  it  a  manifestation  of  an  idealist 
sentiment  which  is  always  present  in  revolutionary 


WOMAN  AND   THE  FAMILY.  121 

outbursts  ?  Is  it  a  consequence  of  the  theory  which 
Schopenhauer  preached,  but  did  not  practise  ?  Is  it 
Malthusian  pessimism  which  would  refuse  to  provide 
any  more  subjects  for  despotism?  Is  it  a  result  of 
the  natural  coldness  of  the  Scythian  ?  There  seems 
to  be  no  doubt,  according  to  the  statement  of  trust- 
worthy authors,  that  there  are  nihilist  virgins  living 
promiscuously  with  students,  helping  them  like  sisters, 
united  by  this  strange  understanding.  Solovief,  who 
made  a  criminal  attempt  on  the  life  of  Alexander  II., 
was  thus  married,  as  was  shown  at  his  trial. 

Among  the  young  generation  of  nihilists  this  sort 
of  union  was  really  an  affiliation  in  devotion  to  their 
party.  The  bride's  dower  went  into  the  party  treas- 
ury, her  body  was  consecrated  to  the  worship  of  the 
unknown  God  ;  and  being  but  slightly  bound  to  his  or 
her  nominal  spouse,  each  one  went  his  or  her  way, 
sometimes  to  distant  provinces,  to  propagate  and 
disseminate  the  good  news. 

Tikomirov  (from  whose  interesting  book  I  have 
taken  most  of  my  information  concerning  the  consti- 
tution of  the  Russian  revolutionary  family)  seems  to 
think  that  French  authors  have  not  done  full  justice 
to  the  austerity  and  purity  of  nihilist  customs,  and  he 
depicts  a  charming  scene  in  the  home  of  intelligence, 
whose  members  are  united  and  affectionate,  where 
moral  and  intellectual  equality  produce  solid  friend- 
ship, precluding  tyranny  on  the  one  hand  and  treason 
on  the  other ;  adding  that  in  Russia  everybody  is 
convinced  of  the  superiority  of  this  sort  of  family,  and 
only  foreigners  think  that  nihilism  undermines  the 


122    R  USSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITER  A  TURE, 

foundations  of  conjugal  union.  Is  this  really  true? 
In  any  case  it  seems  possible  that  such  a  beautiful 
ideal  might  be  attained  to  in  our  Latin  societies, 
given  the  elevated  conception  of  the  Catholic  mar- 
riage, which  makes  it  a  sacrament,  were  there  only  a 
little  more  equity,  toward  which  it  is  evident,  how- 
ever, that  laws  and  customs  are  ever  tending. 

In  speaking  of  nihilist  marriages,  it  is  well  to 
add  that  in  general  the  Russian  revolutionary  move- 
ment has  a  pronounced  flavor  of  mysticism,  although 
at  first  sight  it  seems  an  explosion  of  free-thinking 
and  blasphemy.  It  is  true  that  nihilist  youth  laughs 
at  the  supernatural,  and  has  been  steeped  in  the 
crudities  of  German  materialism  and  in  the  pliant 
philosophies  of  the  clinic  and  the  laboratory;  but 
at  the  same  time,  whether  because  of  the  religious 
character  of  the  race,  or  because  of  a  certain  ex- 
altation which  may  be  the  fruit  of  a  period  of  stress, 
the  nihilist  young  people  are  mystics  in  their  own 
way,  and  talk  about  the  martyrs  to  the  cause  with 
an  inspired  voice  and  with  the  unction  of  a  devotee 
invoking  the  saints.  In  proof  of  this  I  will  give 
here  a  nihilist  madrigal  dedicated  to  the  young 
heroine  in  a  political  trial,  Lydia  Figuier,  who  had 
studied  medicine  in  Zurich  and  Paris. 

"  Deep  is  the  impression,  O  maiden,  left  by  thy 
enchanting  beauty ;  but  more  powerful  than  the  charm 
of  thy  face  is  the  purity  of  thy  soul.  Full  of  pity  is  the 
image  of  the  Saviour,  and  his  divine  features  are  full  of 
compassion ;  but  in  the  unfathomable  depths  of  thine 
eyes  there  is  still  more  love  and  suffering/' 


WOMAN  AND   THE  FAMILY.  123 

The  extremes  of  this  rare  sort  of  fanaticism  are 
still  better  shown  in  a  famous  novel  of  Tcherni- 
chewsky,  the  hero  of  which  outdoes  the  Hindu 
fakirs  and  Christian  anchorites  in  point  of  macera- 
tions, penances,  and  austerities.  He  is  offered  several 
kinds  of  fruit,  but  he  will  taste  only  the  apple,  which 
is  what  the  people  eat ;  he  fasts  in  grief  and  anguish, 
and  one  day,  in  order  to  accustom  himself  to  bear 
any  sort  of  trial,  he  lays  himself  down  upon  a  cloth 
thickly  studded  with  nails  an  inch  long,  points  up- 
ward, and  there  he  remains  until  his  blood  saturates 
the  ground.  Not  content  with  mortifying  the  flesh 
in  this  way,  he  disposes  of  all  his  worldly  goods 
among  the  poor,  and  vows  never  to  touch  a  drop 
of  wine  or  the  lips  of  woman.  This  is  only  the 
hero  of  a  story-book ;  yes,  but  this  story  endeavors 
to  present  a  type,  an  ideal  pattern,  to  which  the 
new  men,  or  nihilists,  try  to  conform  themselves. 

It  must  be  understood  that  when  I  say  mysticism, 
I  use  the  word  in  a  generic  and  not  in  a  theological 
sense.  It  seems  contradictory  to  say  that  an  atheist 
can  do  and  feel  like  the  most  fervent  believer; 
but  a  man  may  pass  a  whole  lifetime  in  parrying 
logic,  and  yet  sometimes  what  his  reason  refuses 
his  imagination  accepts.  There  is  something  in 
nihilism  that  recalls  the  transcendental  contradictions 
of  the  Hindu  philosophies  and  religions,  especially 
Buddhism ;  and  in  Russian  brains  there  is  a  fermen- 
tation of  heterodox  illumination  which  is  manifested 
among  the  common  people  by  sects  of  tremblers, 
jumpers,  and  others,  and  among  the  more  learned 


124    £  USSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITER  A  TURE. 

classes  by  revolutionary  mysticism,  amorphism, 
anarchy,  and  a  gloomy  and  rebellious  pessimism. 
The  prophets  of  the  ignorant  sects  among  the  peo- 
ple preach  many  of  the  revolutionary  dogmas,  teach- 
ing disobedience  to  all  authority,  community  of 
goods,  social  liquidation  and  free  love,  yet  without 
political  intention ;  and  better  educated  nihilists, 
even  reactionary  minds  like  Dostoiewsky,  feel  the 
pulse  of  mystic  enthusiasm  which  runs  in  the  blood. 
The  people  are  so  predisposed  to  color  the  language 
of  the  political  devotee  that  they  were  quite  satisfied 
with  the  answer  given  by  the  propagandist  Rogatchef 
to  the  peasants  who  asked  what  he  sought  among 
them.  He  replied,  "The  true  faith." 

To  the  honor  of  humanity  be  it  said  that  the 
most  profound  emotions  it  has  experienced  have 
been  produced  by  its  own  thirst  for  the  ideal,  and 
caused  by  the  need  of  belief,  and  of  feeling  in  one 
form  or  another  a  religious  excitement.  It  is  this 
element  which  conquers  our  sympathy  for  nihilism ; 
this  shows  us  a  young  and  enthusiastic  people  given 
to  visions  and  sublime  ardors.  To  put  it  more 
explicitly,  I  am  not  passing  judgment  upon  the 
only  revolutionaries  just  now  extant  in  the  world. 
I  have  very  little  liking  for  political  upheavals;  but, 
to  the  egotistical  indifference  that  afflicts  some  na- 
tions, I  believe  that  I  prefer  the  passionate  ex- 
tremes of  nihilism.  In  politics  as  in  art  we  want 
the  living. 

It  will  be  seen  therefore  that  the  people  were  not 
irrelevant  in  confounding  nihilism  with  a  religions 


GOING   TO   THE  PEOPLE.  125 

sect.  As  far  as  our  rationalist  age  will  admit,  the 
nihilist  dissenter  resembles  the  great  heretics  of  the 
Middle  Ages;  he  has  traces  of  the  Millenarian,  of 
Sakya  Muni,  and  of  the  German  pantheists ;  and 
he  has  the  blind  faith,  the  hazy  transports,  the  dog- 
matical and  absolute  affirmation  of  the  persecuted 
religious  sects,  and  of  esoteric  and  subterranean  be- 
liefs. He  adores  a  divinity  without  feelings,  deaf 
and  primitive,  and  this  adoration  is  the  corner-stone 
of  the  nihilist  temple.  The  mujik  sublimated  by 
Russian  literature  is  the  god  of  nihilism. 


IV. 

GOING  TO  THE  PEOPLE. 

HERE  is  a  passage  from  Tikomirov's  book  to 
illustrate  this  aspect  of  Russian  revolution :  — 

"  Where  is  there  any  sociological  theory  that  can 
explain  the  crusade  taken  up  in  1873  by  thousands 
of  young  men  and  women  determined  to  go  to  the  peo- 
ple? The  word  crusade  is  appropriate.  Our  youths 
left  the  bosom  of  their  families  ;  our  maidens  abandoned 
the  worldly  pleasures  of  life.  Nobody  thought  of  his 
own  welfare ;  the  great  cause  absorbed  all  attention, 
and  the  nervous  tension  was  such  that  many  were 
able  to  endure,  without  injury  to  health,  unusual  and 
dreadful  privations.  They  gave  up  their  past  life  and 
all  their  property,  and  if  any  vacillated  in  offering  his 
fortune  to  the  cause,  he  was  looked  upon  with  pity 
and  contempt.  Some  renounced  official  positions  and 


126    R  U SSI  AN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITER  A  TURE. 

gave  all  their  means,  even  to  thousands  of  rubles  ; 
others,  like  Prince  Krapotkine,  from  being  savants, 
diplomats  and  opulent,  became  humble  artisans.  The 
prince  took  to  painting  doors  and  windows.  Rich 
heiresses  sought  occupation  as  factory  operatives,  even 
some  who  had  reigned  as  belles  in  aristocratic  salons. 
It  was  as  though,  exiled  from  other  classes  of  society, 
they  found,  in  turning  to  the  people,  their  souls'  true 
country." 

Do  not  these  words  almost  seem  to  describe  the 
beginnings  of  Christianity  in  Rome? 

The  idol  takes  no  notice  of  his  fanatical  adorers, 
nor  perhaps  does  he  understand  them  any  better 
than  the  peasant-woman  of  Toboso  understood  the 
amorous  suit  with  which  Don  Quixote  wooed  her 
malformed  and  dishevelled  person.  The  Russian 
peasant  cannot  make  anything  of  theories  and  apo- 
theoses evolved  from  an  intellectual  condition  amount- 
ing to  rapturous  frenzy.  "  Oh  that  I  might  die,"  ex- 
claims a  devout  nihilist,  "  and  that  my  blood  like  a 
drop  of  hot  lead  could  burn  and  arouse  the  people  ! " 
This  thirst  for  martyrdom  is  common,  but  above  all 
is  the  anxiety  to  be  amalgamated  with  the  people,  to 
know  them,  and  if  possible  to  infuse  them  with  the 
enthusiasm  they  feel  themselves. 

It  requires  more  courage  to  do  what  Russians  call 
going  to  the  people,  than  to  bear  exile  or  the  gallows. 
In  our  society,  which  boasts  of  its  democracy,  the 
very  equalization  of  classes  has  strengthened  the  in- 
dividual instinct  of  difference,  and  especially  the  aristo- 
crats of  mind,  the  writers  and  thinkers,  have  become 


GOING   TO   THE  PEOPLE.  127 

terribly  nervous,  finicky,  and  inimical  to  the  plebeian 
smell,  to  the  extent  that  even  novels  which  describe 
the  common  people  with  sincerity  and  truth  displease 
the  public  taste.  Yet  the  nihilists,  a  select  company 
from  the  point  of  view  of  intellectual  culture,  go,  like 
apostles,  in  search  of  the  poor  in  spirit,  the  ignorant 
and  the  humble.  The  sons  of  families  belonging  to 
the  highest  classes,  alumni  of  universities,  leave  fine 
clothes  and  books,  dress  like  peasants,  and  mix  with 
factory  hands,  so  as  to  know  them  and  to  teach  them  ; 
young  ladies  of  fine  education  return  from  a  foreign 
tour  and  accept  with  the  utmost  contentment  situa- 
tions as  cooks  in  manufacturers'  houses,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  study  the  labor  question  in  their  workshops. 
We  find  very  curious  instances  of  this  in  Turgue- 
nief's  novel  "Virgin  Soil."  The  heroine,  Mariana,  a 
nihilist,  in  order  to  learn  how  the  people  live,  and  to 
simplify  herself  (this  is  a  sacramental  term),  helps  a 
poor  peasant-woman  in  her  domestic  duties.  Here  we 
have  the  way  of  the  world  reversed :  the  educated 
learns  of  the  ignorant,  and  in  all  that  the  peasant- 
woman  does  or  says  the  young  lady  finds  a  crumb  of 
grace  and  wisdom.  "We  do  not  wish  to  teach  the 
people,"  she  explains,  "we  wish  to  serve  them." 
"To  serve  them?"  replies  the  woman,  with  hard 
practicality.  "  Well,  the  best  way  to  serve  them  is 
to  teach  them."  Equally  fruitless  are  the  efforts  of 
Mariana's  fictitious  husband,  or  husband  by  free  grace, 
as  the  peasant-woman  calls  him,  —  the  poet  and 
dreamer  Nedjanof,  who  thinks  himself  a  nihilist, 
but  in  the  bottom  of  his  soul  has  the  aristocratic 


128    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITER  A  TURE. 

instincts  of  the  artist.  Here  is  the  passage  where  he 
presents  himself  to  Mariana  dressed  in  workman's 
clothes :  — 

"  Mariana  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  At 
first  she  did  not  know  him.  He  wore  an  old  caftan  of 
yellowish  drill,  short-waisted,  and  buttoned  with  small 
buttons  ;  his  hair  was  combed  in  the  Russian  style, 
with  the  part  in  the  middle  ;  a  blue  kerchief  was  tied 
around  his  neck  ;  he  held  in  his  hand  an  old  cap  with 
a  torn  visor,  and  his  feet  were  shod  with  undressed 
calfskin." 

Mariana's  first  act  on  seeing  him  in  this  guise  is  to 
tell  him  that  he  is  indeed  ugly,  after  which  disagree- 
able piece  of  information,  and  a  shudder  of  repug- 
nance at  the  smell  of  his  greasy  cap  and  dirty  sleeves, 
they  provide  themselves  with  pamphlets  and  socialist 
proclamations  and  start  out  on  their  Odyssey  among 
the  people,  hoping  to  meet  with  ineffable  sufferings. 
He  would  be  no  less  glad  than  she  of  a  heroic  sacri- 
fice, but  he  is  not  content  with  a  grotesque  farce  ;  and 
the  girl  is  indignant  when  Solomine,  her  professor  in 
nihilism,  tells  her  that  her  duty  actually  compels  her 
to  wash  the  children  of  the  poor,  to  teach  them  the 
alphabet,  and  to  give  medicine  to  the  sick.  "  That 
is  for  Sisters  of  Charity,"  she  exclaims,  inadvertently 
recognizing  a  truth;  the  Catholic  faith  contains  all 
ways  of  loving  one's  neighbor,  and  none  can  ever  be 
invented  that  it  has  not  foreseen.  But  the  human 
type  of  the  novel  is  Nedjanof,  although  the  nihilists 
have  sought  to  deny  it.  There  is  one  very  sad  and 
real  scene  in  which  he  returns  drunk  from  one  of  his 


GOING   TO   THE  PEOPLE.  129 

propagandist  excursions,  because  the  peasants  whom 
he  was  haranguing  compelled  him  to  drink  as  much 
as  they.  The  poor  fellow  drinks  and  drinks,  but  he 
might  as  well  have  thrown  himself  upon  a  file  of 
bayonets.  He  comes  home  befuddled  with  wodka, 
or  perhaps  more  so  with  the  disgust  and  nausea  which 
the  brutish  and  mal-odorous  people  produced  in  him. 
He  had  never  fully  believed  in  the  work  to  which  he 
had  consecrated  himself :  now  it  is  no  longer  scepti- 
cism, it  is  invincible  disgust  that  takes  hold  upon  his 
soul,  urging  him  to  despair  and  suicide.  The  lament 
of  his  lost  revolutionary  faith  is  contained  in  the  little 
poem  entitled  "  Dreaming,"  which  I  give  literally,  as 
follows :  — 

"It  was  long  since  I  had  seen  my  birthplace,  but  I 
found  it  not  at  all  changed.  The  deathlike  sleep,  in- 
tellectual inertia,  roofless  houses,  ruined  walls,  mire 
and  stench,  scarcity  and  misery,  the  insolent  looks  of 
the  oppressed  peasants,  —  all  the  same !  Only  in  sleep- 
ing, we  have  outstripped  Europe,  Asia,  and  the  whole 
world.  Never  did  my  dear  compatriots  sleep  a  sleep 
so  terrible ! 

"  Everything  sleeps  :  wherever  I  turn,  in  the  fields, 
in  the  cities,  in  carriages,  in  sleighs,  day  and  night,  sit- 
ting or  walking;  the  merchant  and  the  functionary, 
and  the  watchman  in  the  tower,  all  sleep  in  the  cold  or 
in  the  heat !  The  accused  snores  and  the  judge  dozes  ; 
the  peasants  sleep  the  sleep  of  death;  asleep  they  sow 
and  reap  and  grind  the  corn ;  father,  mother,  and  chil- 
dren sleep  !  The  oppressed  and  the  oppressor  sleep 
equally  well ! 

"  Only  the  gin-shop  is  awake,  with  eyes  ever  open ! 
9 


130    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

"  And  hugging  to  her  breast  a  jug  of  fire-water,  her 
face  to  the  pole,  her  feet  to  the  Caucasus,  thus  sleeps 
and  dreams  on  forever  our  Mother,  Holy  Russia ! " 

To  all  nihilist  intents  and  purposes,  particularly  to 
those  of  a  political  character,  the  masses  are  appar- 
ently asleep.  Many  eloquent  anecdotes  refer  to 
their  indifference.  A  young  lady  propagandist,  who 
served  as  cook  on  a  farm,  confesses  that  the  peasants 
spitefully  accused  her  of  taking  bread  from  the  poor. 
In  order  to  get  them  to  take  their  pamphlets  and 
leaflets,  the  nihilists  present  them  as  religious  tracts, 
adorning  the  covers  with  texts  of  Scripture  and  pious 
mottoes  and  signs.  Only  by  making  good  use  of 
the  antiquated  idea  of  distribution  (of  goods)  have 
they  any  chance  of  success ;  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  of 
autonomous  federations,  or  to  attack  the  emperor, 
who  has  the  people  on  his  side. 

The  active  nihilists  are  always  young  people,  and 
this  is  reason  enough  why  they  are  not  completely 
discouraged  by  the  sterility  of  their  efforts.  Old  age 
abhors  fruitless  endeavors,  and  better  appreciating 
the  value  of  life,  will  not  waste  it  in  tiresome  experi- 
ments. And  this  contrast  between  the  ages,  like 
that  between  the  seasons,  is  nowhere  so  sharp  as  in 
Russia;  nowhere  else  is  the  difference  of  opinions 
and  feelings  between  two  generations  so  marked. 
Some  one  has  called  nihilism  a  disease  of  childhood, 
like  measles  or  diphtheria ;  perhaps  this  is  not  alto- 
gether erroneous,  not  only  as  regards  individuals  but 
also  as  regards  society,  for  vehemence  and  furious 
radicalism  are  the  fruit  of  historical  inexperience,  of 


GOING    TO    THE  PEOPLE.  131 

the  political  youth  of  a  nation.  The  precursor  of 
nihilism,  Herzen,  said,  with  his  brilliant  imagery  and 
vigor  of  expression,  that  the  Russia  of  the  future  lay 
with  a  few  insignificant  and  obscure  young  folks  who 
could  easily  hide  between  the  earth  and  the  soles  of 
the  autocrat's  boots ;  and  the  poet  Mikailof,  who  was 
sentenced  to  hard  labor  in  1861,  and  subsequently 
died  under  the  lash,  exclaimed  to  the  students, 
"  Even  in  the  darkness  of  the  dungeon  I  shall  pre- 
serve sacredly  in  my  heart  of  hearts  the  incom- 
parable faith  that  I  have  ingrafted  upon  the  new 
generation." 

It  is  sad  to  see  youth  decrepit  and  weary  from 
birth,  without  enthusiasm  or  ambition  for  anything. 
It  is  more  natural  that  the  sap  should  overflow,  that 
a  longing  for  strife  and  sacrifice,  even  though  foolish 
and  vain,  should  arise  in  its  heart.  This  truth  can- 
not be  too  often  repeated :  to  be  enthusiastic,  to  be 
full  of  life,  is  not  ridiculous ;  but  our  pusillanimous 
doctrine  of  disapproval  is  ridiculous  indeed,  espe- 
cially in  life's  early  years,  —  as  ridiculous  as  baldness 
at  twenty,  or  wrinkles  and  palsy  at  thirty.  Besides, 
we  must  recognize  something  more  than  youthful 
ardor  in  nihilism,  and  that  is,  sympathetic  disinter- 
estedness. The  path  of  nihilism  does  not  lead  to 
brilliant  position  or  destiny :  it  may  lead  to  Siberia 
or  to  the  gibbet. 


132    R  U SSI  AN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LIT  ERA  TURE. 

V. 

HERZEN  AND  THE  NIHILIST  NOVEL. 

BUT  it  is  time  to  mention  some  of  the  precursors 
of  nihilism.  First  of  all  there  is  Alexander  Herzen,  a 
brilliant,  paradoxical  writer,  a  great  visionary,  a  keen 
satirist,  the  poet  of  denial,  a  romanticist  and  idealist 
to  his  own  sorrow,  and,  in  the  bottom  of  his  soul, 
sceptical  and  melancholy.  Herzen  was  born  in 
Moscow  in  the  year  of  the  Fire,  and  his  mind  began 
to  mature  about  the  time  the  December  conspirators 
forced  Nicholas  I.  into  trembling  retirement.  He 
was  wont  to  say  that  he  had  seen  the  most  imposing 
personification  of  imperial  power,  had  grown  up 
under  the  shadow  of  the  secret  police  and  panted  in 
its  clutches.  Charmed  by  the  philosophical  doc- 
trines of  Hegel  and  Feuerbach,  which  were  then 
superseding  the  French,  he  became  a  socialist  and 
a  revolutionary.  Just  at  the  time  when  to  have  a 
constitution  was  the  ideal  and  the  dream  of  the 
Latin  peoples,  who  were  willing  to  tear  themselves  to 
pieces  to  obtain  it,  this  Sclav  was  writing  that  a  con- 
stitution was  a  miserable  contract  between  a  master 
and  his  slaves !  Herzen  was  but  a  little  more  than 
twenty  years  old  when  he  was  sent  to  Siberia.  On 
his  return  from  exile  he  found  at  home  a  mental 
effervescence,  a  Germanic  and  idealist  current  in  the 
wake  of  the  eminent  critic  Bielinsky,  Sclavophiles 
singing  hymns  in  praise  of  national  life  and  repudi- 


HERZEN  AND   THE  NIHILIST  NOVEL.       133 

ating  European  civilization  which  was  in  turn  defended 
by  the  so-called  Occidentals ;  and  lastly  he  found  a 
set  of  literary,  innovators  who  formed  the  famous 
natural  school,  at  the  head  of  which  was  the  great 
Gogol.  Herzen  fell  into  this  whirl  of  ideas,  and  his 
aesthetic  doctrines  and  advanced  Hegelianism  had 
great  influence,  and  after  some  more  serious  works 
he  published  his  celebrated  novel,  "Who  is  to 
Blame  ?  "  —  a  masterly  effort,  which  gained  him  im- 
mense renown  in  Russia.  It  was  masterly  more  by 
reason  of  the  popularity  it  achieved  than  by  its  liter- 
ary merit,  for  Herzen  is,  after  all,  not  to  be  counted 
among  the  chief  novel-writers  of  Russia.  Herzen 
was  born  to  point  the  way  to  a  social  Utopia  rather 
than  the  road  to  pure  Beauty.  He  invented  new 
phases  of  civilization,  societies  transformed  by  the 
touch  of  a  magic  wand.  The  star  of  Proudhon  was 
at  this  time  in  the  ascendant,  and  Herzen,  attracted 
by  its  brilliancy,  left  his  country  never  to  return; 
but  he  did  not  on  this  account  cease  to  exercise  a 
great  influence  upon  her  destinies,  so  great,  indeed, 
that  some  profess  to  think  that  had  Herzen  never 
lived,  nihilism  would  have  perished  in  the  bud. 

Herzen  hailed  with  delight  the  French  revolution 
of  1 848.  He  expected  to  behold  a  social  liquidation, 
but  he  saw  instead  only  a  conservative  republic,  —  a 
change  of  form.  Then  he  cried  out  in  savage  de- 
spair, and  his  words  have  become  the  true  nihilist 
war-cry  :  "  Let  the  old  world  perish  !  Let  chaos  and 
destruction  come  upon  it !  Hail,  Death  !  Welcome 
to  the  Future  ! " 


134    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

To  sweep  away  the  past  with  one  stroke  became 
his  perennial  aspiration.  He  drew  a  vivid  picture  of 
a  secret  tribunal  which  every  new  man  carries  within 
himself,  to  judge,  condemn,  and  guillotine  the  past ; 
he  described  how  a  man,  fearful  of  following  up  his 
logical  conclusions,  after  citing  before  this  tribunal  the 
Church,  the  State,  the  family,  the  good,  and  the  evil, 
might  make  an  effort  to  save  a  rag  of  the  worn-out 
yesterday,  unable  to  see  that  the  lightest  weight  would 
prove  a  hindrance  to  his  passage  from  the  old  world 
to  the  new.  "  There  is  a  remarkable  likeness  between 
logic  and  terror,"  he  said.  "It  is  not  for  us  to  pluck 
the  fruits  of  the  past,  but  to  destroy  them,  to  perse- 
cute them,  to  judge  them,  to  unmask  them,  and  to 
immolate  them  upon  the  altars  of  the  future.  Terror 
sentenced  human  beings;  it  concerns  us  to  judge 
institutions,  demolish  creeds,  put  no  faith  in  old 
things,  unsettle  every  interest,  break  every  bond, 
without  mercy,  without  leniency,  without  pity." 

This  was  his  programme  :  Not  to  civilize  or  to 
progress,  but  to  obliterate,  to  demolish;  to  replace 
what  he  called  the  senile  barbarity  of  the  world 
with  a  juvenile  barbarity ;  "  to  go  to  the  very  limits 
of  absurdity,"  —  these  are  his  own  words.  They 
contain  the  sum  pf  nihilism ;  they  include  the  pes- 
simist despair,  and  the  foolish  proscription  of  art, 
beauty,  and  culture,  which  to  an  artistic  mind  is  the 
greatest  crime  that  can  be  laid  at  the  door  of  any 
political  or  philosophical  doctrine.  A  tendency  that 
aspires  to  overthrow  the  altar  sacred  to  the  Muses 
and  the  Graces  can  never  prevail. 


HERZEN  AND    THE  NIHILIST  NOVEL.       135 

Herzen  went  to  London,  established  a  press  for 
the  dissemination  of  political  writings  in  Russia,  and 
organized  a  secret  society  for  Russian  refugees, 
among  whom  he  counted  Bakunine ;  and  having 
refused  to  return  to  his  country,  he  founded  a  singu- 
lar paper  called  "The  Bell"  (Kolokol),  of  which 
thousands  of  copies,  though  strictly  prohibited  by  the 
censor,  crossed  the  frontier.  They  were  distributed 
and  read  on  every  hand,  and  a  copy  was  regularly 
placed,  by  invisible  hands,  in  the  chamber  of  the 
emperor,  who  devoured  it  no  less  eagerly  than  his 
faithful  subjects.  From  the  pages  of  this  illegal  pub- 
lication the  sovereign  learned  of  secret  intrigues  in 
his  palace,  of  plots  among  his  high  officials,  and 
scandalous  stories  reported  by  the  socialist  refugee 
with  incredible  accuracy.  By  the  side  of  these  evi- 
dences of  dexterity  and  cleverness,  some  of  the 
stratagems  recounted  of  the  times  of  our  own  Carlist 
war  seem  mere  child's  play. 

As  the  precursor  of  nihilism  Herzen  excites  great 
interest,  but  there  is  much  to  be  said  of  Tcher- 
nichewsky  and  Bakunine.  It  is  said  that  the  latter's 
influence  was  more  felt  abroad  than  at  home,  and 
that  he  fanned  the  activity  of  the  Internationalist  so- 
cieties, and  of  the  Swiss,  Italian,  and  Spanish  laboring 
classes.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Bakunine  was  a  classic 
type  of  the  conspirator  by  profession,  —  in  love  with 
his  dangerous  work.  He  adopted  as  his  motto  that 
to  destroy  is  to  create.  Caussidiere  saw  him  and 
watched  him  during  the  insurrections  in  Paris,  and 
exclaimed,  "  What  a  man  !  The  first  day  of  the  revo- 


136    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

lution  he  is  a  treasure ;  on  the  second  we  must  shoot 
him  !  "  Paris  was  not  the  only  witness  of  his  feats ; 
he  fought  like  a  lion  at  the  barricades  in  Dresden, 
and  was  elected  dictator;  he  took  an  active  part 
in  the  Polish  insurrection ;  he  quite  outshone  Carl 
Marx  in  the  International,  and  with  him  originated 
the  anarchist  faction,  and  that  last  grade  of  revolu- 
tion, amorphism.  As  for  Tchernichewsky,  he  is 
considered  the  great  master  and  inspirer  of  contem- 
porary nihilism,  his  principal  claim  to  such  a  place 
being  based  on  a  novel ;  and  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Russian  revolution  we  shall  always  find  the  epic 
fictions  of  our  day  exerting  a  powerful  influence. 

With  Herzen's  novel  the  tendencies  of  nihilism 
were  first  revealed ;  with  Tchernichewsky's  they  be- 
came fixed  and  decisive.  Novels  of  Gogol  and  Tur- 
guenief  overthrew  serfdom,  and  novels  of  Turguenief, 
Dostoiewsky,  Tolstoi,  Gontcharof,  and  Tchedrine  are 
the  documents  which  historians  will  consult  hereafter 
when  the  great  contest  between  the  revolution  and 
the  old  society  shall  be  written.  When  Tcherni- 
chewsky wrote  his  famous  novel,  he  had  already  tried 
his  hand  at  various  public  questions,  had  made  a 
compilation  from  the  "  Political  Economy  "  of  John 
Stuart  Mill,  and  was  a  prisoner  on  the  charge  of 
organizing  the  revolutionary  propaganda  in  Russia 
along  with  Herzen,  Ogaref,  and  Bakunine,  who  were 
refugees  in  London.  Before  setting  out  to  suffer  his 
sentence  of  fifteen  years'  imprisonment  and  perpetual 
residence  in  Siberia,  he  was  tied  to  a  stake  in  a  public 
square  of  St.  Petersburg,  and  after  the  reading  of  the 


HER  ZEN  AND   THE  NIHILIST  NOVEL.'      137 

sentence  a  sword  was  broken  over  his  head.  What  a 
blow  was  dealt  at  absolute  power  by  this  man,  shut 
up,  annihilated,  suppressed,  and  civilly  dead  !  Happy 
the  cause  that  hath  martyrs  ! 

His  novel  produced  an  indescribable  sensation. 
The  nihilists  were  inclined  to  resent  Turgueniefs 
"  Fathers  and  Sons,"  whose  hero,  the  materialist 
Bazarof,  represented  the  new  generation,  or,  accord- 
ing to  them,  caricatured  it.  Tchernichewsky's  book 
was  considered  to  be  a  faithful  picture,  and  a  model 
besides  for  the  party;  it  was  the  nihilists  painted 
by  one  of  themselves,  so  to  speak.  Although  it  is 
tedious  and  inconsistent  in  its  arguments,  the  book 
shows  much  talent  and  a  fertile  imagination ;  the 
author  declares  that  it  is  his  purpose  to  stereotype 
the  personality  of  the  new  man,  who  is  but  an  evan- 
escent type,  a  sign  of  the  times,  destined  to  disap- 
pear with  the  epoch  he  has  initiated.  Writing  about 
the  year  1850,  he  says,  "  Six  years  ago  there  were  no 
such  men ;  three  years  ago  they  were  little  noticed, 
and  now  —  but  what  matters  what  is  thought  of  them 
now?  Soon  enough  they  will  hear  the  cry,  Save  us  ! 
and  whatever  they  command  shall  be  done."  Farther 
on  he  says  that  these  new  men  in  turn  shall  disappear 
to  the  last  man  ;  and  after  a  long  time  men  shall  say, 
"Since  the  days  of  those  men  things  go  on  better, 
although  not  entirely  well  yet."  Then  the  type  shall 
reappear  again  in  larger  numbers  and  in  greater  per- 
fection, and  this  will  continue  to  happen  until  men 
say,  "  Now  we  are  doing  well  ! "  And  when  this 
hour  arrives,  there  will  be  no  special  types  of  human- 


138  RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

ity,  there  will  be  no  new  men,  for  all  shall  realize  the 
largest  sum  of  perfection  possible.  Such  is  the  theory 
of  this  famous  martyr,  and  it  is  certainly  as  original 
as  it  is  curious. 

The  admirers  of  Tchernichewsky's  novel  compare  it 
to  "  The  City  of  the  Sun,"  by  Campanella,  "Utopia," 
by  Sir  Thomas  More,  "  The  Journey  to  Icaria,"  by 
Cabet,  and  the  phalansterian  sketches  by  Fourier's 
disciples.  This  comparison  is  alone  sufficient  to  de- 
cide the  rivalry  in  favor  of  Turguenief ;  for  the  Siberian 
exile  wrought  only  in  the  interest  of  socialist  propa- 
ganda, while  the  author  of  "  Virgin  Soil,"  whether 
accurate  or  not  in  detail,  was  a  consummate  artist. 
Only  political  excitement  can  dictate  certain  judg- 
ments and  decisions.  If  I  speak  now  more  at  length 
of  the  exile's  novel,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  its  representa- 
tive value,  and  as  a  reflection  of  nihilism  in  literature. 
The  title  is,  "What  to  do?"  The  author  wishes  to 
solve  the  problem  put  by  Herzen  in  the  title  to  his 
novel,  "  Who  is  to  blame  ?  "  and  under  the  guise  of 
a  love-quarrel  he  delineates  the  ideal  of  the  contem- 
porary generation  represented  by  two  favorite  charac- 
ters, the  two  classic  types  of  the  nihilist  novel,  —  the 
student  of  medicine,  a  new  man,  saturated  with 
science  and  German  metaphysics,  and  a  brave  girl 
longing  to  be  initiated  and  thirsting  to  consecrate 
herself  to  some  lofty  cause.  Among  other  curiosi- 
ties there  is  a  nihilist  husband,  who,  on  discovering 
that  his  wife  is  enamoured  of  somebody  else,  calculates 
his  moral  sufferings  as  equivalent  to  the  excitement 
produced  by  four  cupfuls  of  strong  coffee,  and  he 


HERZEN  AND    THE  NIHILIST  NOVEL.        139 

therefore  takes  two  morphine  pills  and  declares  that 
he  feels  better  !  In  spite  of  being  prohibited  by  the 
censor,  this  novel,  as  might  be  expected,  had  a  great 
success ;  the  editions  multiplied  clandestinely ;  the 
heroine's  type  became  immensely  popular ;  the  young 
girls  took  to  the  study  of  medicine  with  an  enthusiasm 
and  a  will  to  which  I  can  personally  testify ;  and  if 
report  be  true,  a  part  of  the  new  ideas  concerning 
conjugal  equality  and  the  constitution  of  the  family 
proceeded  from  this  novel.  The  popularity  of  the 
author,  glorified  by  the  halo  of  his  sufferings  and 
imprisonment,  far  superseded  that  of  Herzen. 

Materialism  and  positivism  soon  came  also  to  re- 
place the  visions  of  Herzen ;  for  when  Alexander  II. 
opened  the  frontiers  which  the  inflexible  Nicholas 
had  closed,  the  students  brought  home  new  idols 
from  the  German  universities.  Schopenhauer  and 
Buchner  superseded  Hegel  and  Feuerbach.  Scho- 
penhauer, with  his  pessimism,  his  theory  of  Nirvana 
and  universal  annihilation,  arrived  just  in  time  to  fos- 
ter the  germs  of  fatalism  dormant  within  the  Russian 
soul ;  and  Buchner,  by  means  of  his  very  superficial 
but  eloquent  book,  was  also  in  season  to  offer  an 
accessible,  clear,  and  popular  formula  to  unthink- 
ing minds  and  negative  or  indolent  temperaments. 
"  Force  and  matter  "  was  for  a  time  the  Bible  of  Rus- 
sian students.  It  will  be  readily  seen  that  the  revolu- 
tionary formula  and  methods  in  Russia  always  came 
from  abroad ;  but  they  met  with  tendencies  which 
were  unexpected,  even  though  they  proved  favor- 
able to  development.  The  philosophy  of  nihilism  was 


140    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

drawn  from  Western  sources,  no  doubt ;  yet  this  phe- 
nomenon made  its  appearance  only  in  Russia,  a  land 
predisposed  to  realism  and  mysticism,  to  brutality 
and  languor,  and  above  all  to  melancholy  limitless  as 
its  plains. 

We  are  told  of  the  now  famous  saying  of  a  nihilist, 
who,  being  asked  his  doctrines,  replied,  "To  see 
earth  and  heaven,  Church  and  State,  God  and  king, 
and  to  spit  upon  them  all  ! "  Although  the  verb  to 
spit  is  not  so  offensive  in  Russia  as  here,  and  is  rather 
a  sign  of  repugnance  than  of  insult,  such  a  reply 
contains  the  sum  of  negative  nihilism ;  and  negation, 
the  critical  period,  cannot  last  longer  than  the  de- 
spairing sigh  of  the  dying.  The  active  phase  of  nihil- 
ism, the  reign  of  terror,  passed  by  quickly,  and  now 
the  party  is  beginning  to  lay  aside  its  ferocious  radi- 
calism and  deal  with  realities. 


VI. 

THE   REIGN   OF   TERROR. 

THE  reign  of  terror  was  short  but  tragic.  We  have 
seen  that  the  active  nihilists  were  a  few  hundred 
inexperienced  youths  without  position  or  social  in- 
fluence, armed  only  with  leaflets  and  tracts.  This 
handful  of  boys  furiously  threw  down  the  gauntlet  of 
defiance  at  the  government  when  they  saw  them- 
selves pursued.  Resolved  to  risk  their  heads  (and 
with  such  sincerity  that  almost  all  the  associates  who 


THE  REIGN  OF   TERROR.  141 

bound  themselves  to  execute  what  they  called  the 
people's  will  have  died  in  prison  or  on  the  scaffold), 
they  adopted  as  their  watchword  man  for  man. 
When  the  sanguinary  reprisals  fell  upon  Russia  from 
one  end  to  the  other,  the  frightened  people  imagined 
an  immense  army  of  terrorists,  rich,  strong,  and  in 
command  of  untold  resources,  covering  the  empire. 
In  reality,  the  twenty  offences  committed  from  1878 
to  1882,  the  mines  discovered  under  the  two  capitals, 
the  explosions  in  the  station  at  Moscow  and  in  the 
palace  at  St.  Petersburg,  the  many  assassinations, 
and  the  marvellous  organization  which  could  get 
them  performed  with  circumstances  so  dramatic  and 
create  a  mysterious  terror  against  which  the  power 
of  the  government  was  broken  in  pieces,  —  all  this  was 
the  work  of  a  few  dozens  of  men  and  women  seem- 
ingly endowed  with  ubiquitousness,  so  rapid  and 
unceasing  their  journeys,  and  so  varied  the  disguises, 
names,  and  stratagems  they  made  use  of  to  bewilder 
and  confound  the  police.  It  was  whispered  that 
millions  of  money  were  sent  in  from  abroad,  that 
there  were  members  of  the  Czar's  family  implicated 
in  the  conspiracy,  that  there  was  an  unknown  chief, 
living  in  a  distant  country,  who  managed  the  threads 
of  a  terrible  executive  committee  which  passed  judg- 
ment in  the  dark,  and  whose  decrees  were  carried 
out  instantly.  Yet  there  were  only  a  few  enthusiastic 
students,  a  few  young  girls  ready  to  perform  any 
service,  like  the  heroine  of  Turgueniefs  "  Shadows  ; " 
a  few  thousand  rubles,  each  contributing  his  share ; 
and,  after  all,  a  handful  of  determined  people,  who, 


142    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

to  use  the  words  of  Leroy-Beaulieu,  had  made  a 
covenant  with  death.  For  a  strong  will,  like  intelli- 
gence or  inspiration,  is  the  patrimony  of  the  few ; 
and  so,  just  as  ten  or  twelve  artist  heads  can  modify 
the  aesthetic  tendency  of  an  age,  six  or  eight  in- 
trepid conspirators  are  enough  to  stir  up  an  immense 
empire. 

After  Karakozof  s  attempt  upon  the  life  of  the 
Czar  (the  first  spark  of  discontent),  the  government 
augmented  the  police  and  endowed  Muravief,  who 
was  nicknamed  the  Hangman,  with  dictatorial  powers. 
In  1871  the  first  notable  political  trial  was  held 
upon  persons  affiliated  with  a  secret  society.  Per- 
secutions for  political  offences  are  a  great  mistake. 
Maltreatment  only  inspires  sympathy.  After  a  few 
such  trials  the  doors  had  to  be  closed ;  the  public 
had  become  deeply  interested  in  the  accused,  who 
declared  their  doctrines  in  a  style  only  comparable 
to  the  acts  of  the  early  Christian  martyrs.  Who 
could  fail  to  be  moved  at  the  sight  of  a  young  woman 
like  Sophia  Bardina,  rising  modestly  and  explaining 
before  an  audience  tremulous  with  compassion  her 
revolutionary  ideas  concerning  society,  the  family, 
anarchy,  property,  and  law?  Power  is  almost  always 
blind  and  stupid  in  the  first  moments  of  revolutionary 
disturbances.  In  Russia  men  risked  life  and  security 
as  often  by  acts  of  charity  toward  conspirators  as  by 
conspiracy  itself.  In  Odessa,  which  was  commanded 
by  General  Totleben,  the  little  blond  heads  of  two 
children  appeared  between  the  prison  bars ;  they 
were  the  children  of  a  poor  wretch  who  had  dropped 


THE  REIGN  OF   TERROR.  143 

five  rubles  into  a  collection  for  political  exiles,  and 
these  two  little  ones  were  sentenced  to  the  deserts 
of  Siberia  with  their  father.  And  the  poet  Mikailof 
chides  the  revolutionaries  with  the  words :  "  Why 
not  let  your  indignation  speak,  my  brothers?  Why 
is  love  silent  ?  Is  our  horrible  misfortune  worthy  of 
nothing  more  than  a  vain  tribute  of  tears?  Has 
your  hatred  no  power  to  threaten  and  to  wound  ?  " 

The  party  then  armed  itself,  ready  to  vindicate  its 
political  rights  by  means  of  terror.  The  executive 
committee  of  the  revolutionary  socialists  —  if  in 
truth  such  a  committee  existed  or  was  anything  more 
than  a  triumvirate  —  favored  this  idea.  Spies  and 
fugitives  were  quickly  executed.  The  era  of  sangui- 
nary nihilism  was  opened  by  a  woman,  the  Charlotte 
Corday  of  nihilism,  —  Vera  Zasulitch.  She  read  in  a 
newspaper  that  a  political  prisoner  had  been  whipped, 
contrary  to  law,  —  for  corporal  punishment  had  been 
already  abolished,  —  and  for  no  worse  cause  than  a 
refusal  to  salute  General  Trepof;  she  immediately 
went  and  fired  a  revolver  at  his  accuser.  The  jury 
acquitted  her,  and  her  friends  seized  her  as  she  was 
coming  out  of  court,  and  spirited  her  away  lest  she 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  police ;  the  emperor 
thereupon  decreed  that  henceforth  political  prisoners 
should  not  be  tried  by  jury.  Shortly  after  this  the 
substitute  of  the  imperial  deputy  at  Kief  was  fired 
upon  in  the  street;  suspicion  fell  upon  a  student; 
all  the  others  mutinied ;  sixteen  of  them  were  sent 
into  exile.  As  they  were  passing  through  Moscow 
their  fellow-students  there  broke  from  the  lecture- 


144    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

halls  and  came  to  blows  with  the  police.  Some  days 
later  the  rector  of  the  University  of  Kief,  who  had 
endeavored  to  keep  clear  of  the  affair,  was  found 
dead  upon  the  stairs ;  and  again  later,  Heyking,  an 
officer  of  the  gendarmerie,  was  mortally  stabbed  in  a 
crowded  street.  The  clandestine  press  declared  this 
to  have  been  done  by  order  of  the  executive  com- 
mittee ;  and  it  was  not  long  before  the  chief  of  secret 
police  of  St.  Petersburg  received  a  very  polite  notice 
of  his  death-sentence,  which  was  accomplished  by 
another  dagger,  and  the  clandestine  paper,  "Land 
and  Liberty,"  said  by  way  of  comment,  "The  meas- 
ure is  filled,  and  we  gave  warning  of  it."  Months 
passed  without  any  new  assassinations ;  but  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1879,  Prince  Krapotkine,  governor  of  Karkof, 
fell  by  the  hand  of  a  masked  man,  who  fired  two 
shots  and  fled,  and  no  trace  of  him  was  to  be  found, 
though  sentence  of  death  against  him  was  announced 
upon  the  walls  of  all  the  large  towns  of  Russia.  The 
brother  of  Prince  Krapotkine  was  a  furious  revolu- 
tionary, and  conducted  a  socialist  paper  in  Geneva  at 
that  time.  In  March  it  fell  to  the  turn  of  Colonel 
Knoup  of  the  gendarmerie,  who  was  assassinated  in 
his  own  house,  and  beside  him  was  found  a  paper 
with  these  words  :  "  By  order  of  the  Executive  Com- 
mittee. So  will  we  do  to  all  tyrants  and  their  accom- 
plices." A  pretty  nihilist  girl  killed  a  man  at  a  ball ; 
it  was  at  first  thought  to  be  a  love-affair,  but  it  was 
afterward  found  out  that  the  murderess  did  the 
deed  by  order  of  the  executive  committee,  or  what- 
ever the  hidden  power  was  which  inspired  such  acts. 


THE  REIGN  OP   TERROR.  145 

On  the  25th  of  this  same  March  a  plot  against  the 
life  of  the  new  chief  of  police,  General  Drenteln,  was 
frustrated,  and  the  walls  of  the  town  then  flamed  with 
a  notice  that  revolutionary  justice  was  about  to  fall 
upon  one  hundred  and  eighty  persons.  It  rained 
crimes,  —  against  the  governor  of  Kief,  against 
Captain  Hubbenet,  against  Pietrowsky,  chief  of 
police,  who  was  riddled  with  wounds  in  his  own 
room ;  and  lastly  on  the  i4th  of  April  Solovief  at- 
tempted the  life  of  the  Czar,  firing  five  shots,  none 
of  which  took  effect.  On  being  caught,  the  would- 
be  assassin  swallowed  a  dose  of  poison,  but  his  suicide 
was  also  unsuccessful.  Solovief,  however,  had  reached 
the  heights  of  nihilism ;  he  had  dared  to  touch  the 
sacred  person  of  the  Czar.  He  was  the  ideal  nihilist : 
he  had  renounced  his  profession,  determined  to  go 
•with  the  people,  and  became  a  locksmith,  wearing  the 
artisan's  dress ;  he  was  married  mystically,  and  by 
free  grace  or  free  will,  and  it  was  said  that  he  was  a 
member  of  the  terrible  executive  committee.  He 
suffered  death  on  the  gallows  with  serenity  and  com- 
posure, and  without  naming  his  accomplices.  "  Land 
and  Liberty  "  approved  his  acts  by  saying,  "  We  should 
be  as  ready  to  kill  as  to  die ;  the  day  has  come  when 
assassination  must  be  counted  as  a  political  motor." 
From  that  day  Alexander  II.  was  a  doomed  man, 
and  his  fatal  moment  was  not  far  off.  The  revolu- 
tionaries were  determined  to  strike  the  government 
with  terror,  and  to  prove  to  the  people  that  the 
sacred  emperor  was  a  man  like  any  other,  and  that 
no  supernatural  charm  shielded  his  life.  At  the  end 


146    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

of  1879  and  the  beginning  of  1880  two  lugubrious 
warnings  were  forced  upon  the  emperor :  first,  the 
mine  which  wrecked  the  imperial  train,  and  then  the 
explosion  which  threw  the  dining-room  of  the  palace 
in  ruins,  which  catastrophe  he  saw  with  his  own 
eyes.  About  this  time  the  office  of  a  surreptitious 
paper  was  attacked,  the  editors  and  printers  of  which 
defended  themselves  desperately ;  alarmed  by  this 
significant  event,  the  emperor  intrusted  to  Loris 
Melikof,  who  was  a  liberal,  an  almost  omnipotent 
dictatorship.  The  conciliatory  measures  of  Melikof 
somewhat  calmed  the  public  mind;  but  just  as  the 
Czar  had  convened  a  meeting  for  the  consideration 
of  reforms  solicited  by  the  general  opinion,  his  own 
sentence  was  carried  out  by  bombs. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  both  parties  (the  con- 
servative and  the  revolutionary)  cast  in  each  other's 
face  the  accusation  of  having  been  the  first  to  inflict 
the  death-penalty,  which  was  contrary  to  Russian 
custom  and  law.  If  Russia  does  not  deserve  quite 
so  appropriately  as  Spain  to  be  called  the  country 
of  vice  versas,  it  is  nevertheless  worth  while  to  note 
how  she  long  ago  solved  the  great  juridical  problem 
upon  which  we  are  still  employing  tongue  and  pen 
so  busily.  Not  only  is  capital  punishment  unknown 
to  the  Russian  penal  code,  but  since  1872  even  per- 
petual confinement  has  been  abolished,  twenty  years 
being  the  maximum  of  imprisonment ;  and  this  even 
to-day  is  only  inflicted  upon  political  criminals,  who 
are  always  treated  there  with  greater  severity  than 
other  delinquents.  Before  the  celebrated  Italian 


THE  POLICE  AND   THE  CENSOR.  147 

criminalist  lawyer,  Beccaria,  ever  wrote  on  the  sub- 
ject, the  Czarina  Elisabeth  Petrowna  had  issued  an 
edict  suppressing  capital  punishment  The  terrible 
Muscovite  whip  probably  equalled  the  gibbet,  but 
aside  from  the  fact  that  it  had  been  seldom  used,  it 
was  abolished  by  Nicholas  I.  If  we  judge  of  a 
country  by  its  penal  laws,  Russia  stands  at  the  head 
of  European  civilization.  The  Russians  were  so  un- 
accustomed to  the  sight  of  the  scaffold,  that  when  the 
first  one  for  the  conspirators  was  to  be  built,  there 
were  no  workmen  to  be  found  who  knew  how  to 
construct  it. 


VII. 

THE   POLICE  AND  THE  CENSOR. 

IT  is  not  easy  to  say  whether  the  government  was 
ill-advised  in  confronting  the  terrors  of  nihilism  with 
the  terrors  of  authority.  Public  executions  are  con- 
tageous  in  their  effect,  and  blood  intoxicates.  The 
nihilists,  even  in  the  hour  of  death,  did  not  neglect 
their  propaganda,  and  held  up  to  the  people  their 
dislocated  wrists  as  evidences  of  their  tortures.  One 
must  put  one's  self  in  the  place  of  a  government 
menaced  and  attacked  in  so  unusual  a  manner. 
Certain  extreme  measures  which  are  the  fruit  of  the 
stress  of  the  moment  are  more  excusable  than  the 
vacillating  system  commonly  practised  from  time 
immemorial,  and  which  is  foster-mother  to  profes- 


148    RUSSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITERATURE. 

sional  demagogues,  and  dynamiters  by  vocation  and 
preference. 

The  police  as  organized  in  Russia  seem  to  inspire 
greater  horror  even  than  the  nihilist  atrocities.  In 
the  face  of  judicial  reforms  there  exists  an  irre- 
sponsible tribunal,  called  the  Third  Section  of  the 
Imperial  Chancellorship.  The  worst  of  this  kind  of 
arbitrary  and  antipathetic  institutions  is  that  imagi- 
nation attributes  many  more  iniquities  to  them  than 
they  in  reality  commit.  Russian  written  law  declares 
that  no  subject  of  the  Czar  can  be  condemned  with- 
out a  public  trial ;  but  the  special  police  has  the  right 
to  arrest,  imprison,  and  make  way  with,  rendering 
no  account  to  any  one.  Thus  absolute  power  leaps 
the  barriers  of  justice.  It  must  be  acknowledged 
that  the  dark  ways  of  the  special  police  only  reflected 
those  of  their  nihilist  adversary.  Nowhere  in  the 
world,  however,  is  the  police  so  hated ;  nowhere  do 
they  perform  their  work  in  so  irritating  a  manner  as 
in  Russia ;  and  the  public,  far  from  assisting  them, 
as  in  England  and  France,  fights  and  circumvents 
them.  The  proneness  to  secret  societies  in  Russia 
is  the  result  of  the  perpetual  and  odious  tyranny  of 
the  police.  The  Russian  lives  in  clandestine  asso- 
ciation like  a  fish  in  water ;  so  much  so  that  after  the 
fall  of  Loris  Melikof  the  reactionaries  were  no  less 
eager  for  it  than  the  nihilists,  and  bound  themselves 
together  under  the  name  of  the  Holy  League,  taking 
as  a  model  the  revolutionary  executive  committee, 
and  even  including  the  death-sentence  in  their  rules. 

War  without  quarter  was  declared,  and  the  police 


THE  POLICE  AND   THE  CENSOR,  149 

organized  a  counter-terror  characterized  by  impeach- 
ment, suspicion,  espionage,  and  inquisition.  There 
were  domiciliary  visitations  ;  every  one  was  obliged  to 
take  notice  whether  any  illegal  meetings  were  held  in 
his  neighborhood,  or  any  proscribed  books  or  ex- 
plosive materials  were  to  be  seen ;  no  posters  were 
allowed  to  be  put  on  the  walls,  and  every  one  was 
expected  to  aid  the  arrest  of  any  suspicious  person ; 
a  vigilant  watch  was  kept  upon  Russian  refugees ;  the 
rigors  of  confinement  were  enforced ;  and  all  this 
made  the  police  utterly  abhorred,  even  in  a  country 
accustomed  to  endure  them  as  a  traditional  institu- 
tion since  the  last  of  the  Ruriks  and  the  first  of  the 
Romanoffs. 

The  chief  of  the  Third  Section  became  a  power  in 
the  land.  The  Section  worked  secretly  and  actively. 
The  chief  and  the  emperor  maintained  incessant 
communication,  and  the  former  was  made  a  member 
of  the  cabinet,  and  could  arrest,  imprison,  exile,  and 
put  out  of  the  way,  whomever  he  pleased.  During 
the  reign  of  the  kind-hearted  Alexander  II.  his 
power  declined  for  a  while,  until  nihilist  plots  and 
manoeuvres  caused  it  to  be  redoubled.  There  was  a 
struggle  unto  death  between  two  powers  of  darkness, 
from  which  the  police  came  out  beaten,  having  been 
unable  to  save  the  lives  of  their  chief  and  the 
sovereign. 

While  the  Third  Section  attacked  personal  security 
and  liberty,  the  censorship,  more  intolerable  still, 
hemmed  in  the  spirit  and  condemned  to  a  death  by 
inanition  a  young  people  hungry  for  literature  and 


150    K  USSIAN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  UTERA  TURE, 

science,  for  plays,  periodicals,  and  books.  Mutilated 
as  it  is,  the  newspaper  is  bread  to  the  soul  of  the 
Russian.  The  Russian  press,  like  all  the  obstacles 
that  absolute  power  finds  in  its  way,  was  founded  by 
one  of  their  imperial  civilizers,  Peter  the  Great,  and 
it  maintained  a  purely  literary  character  until  the 
reign  of  Alexander  II.,  when  it  took  a  political  form. 
Under  the  iron  hand  of  the  censor,  the  Russian  press 
has  learned  the  manner  and  artifices  of  the  slave ;  in 
allusions,  insinuations,  retentions,  and  half-meanings 
it  is  an  adept,  for  only  so  can  it  convey  all  that  it  is 
forbidden  to  speak.  It  must  emigrate  and  recross 
the  frontier  as  contraband  in  order  to  speak  freely. 

The  censor  lies  ever  in  ambush  like  a  mastiff  ready 
to  bite ;  and  sometimes  its  teeth  clinch  the  most 
inoffensive  words  on  the  page,  the  most  innocent 
page  in  the  book,  the  librettos  of  operas,  as  for  ex- 
ample "The  Huguenots"  and  "William  Tell."  In 
1855  certain  literary  works  were  exempted  from  the 
previous  censure,  but  this  beneficence  was  not  ex- 
tended to  the  periodical  press.  The  newspapers  of 
St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  were  open  to  a  choice 
between  the  new  and  old  systems,  between  sub- 
mitting to  the  rule  of  the  censor  and  a  deluge  of  de- 
nunciations, seizures,  suspensions,  and  suppressions; 
and  they  willingly  chose  the  former.  So  the  Russian 
press  exists  under  an  entirely  arbitrary  sufferance, 
and  according  as  the  political  scales  rise  and  fall 
they  are  allowed  to-day  what  was  prohibited  yester- 
day, and  sometimes  their  very  means  of  sustenance 
are  cut  off  by  an  embargo  on  certain  numbers  or  the 


THE  POLICE  AND   THE  CENSOR.  151 

proscription  of  advertisements.  If  a  liberal  minister 
is  to  the  fore,  times  are  prosperous ;  if  there  is  a  re- 
action, they  are  crushed  to  death.  This  accounts  for 
the  popularity  of  the  secret  press,  which  is  at  work 
even  in  buildings  belonging  to  the  crown,  in  semi- 
naries and  convents,  and  in  the  very  laboratory  of 
dynamite  bombs. 

Books  are  as  much  harassed  as  periodicals.  The 
Russians,  being  very  fond  of  everything  foreign,  sigh 
for  books  from  abroad,  especially  those  that  deal  with 
political  and  social  questions ;  but  the  censor  has 
custom-houses  at  the  frontier,  and  the  officials,  with 
the  usual  perspicacity  of  literary  monitors,  finally 
let  slip  that  which  may  prove  most  dangerous  and 
subversive,  and  exercise  their  zeal  upon  the  most 
ingenuous.  They  have  even  cut  off  the  feuilletines  of 
thousands  of  French  papers,  —  what  patience  it  must 
have  required  to  do  it !  —  while  Madame  Gagneur's 
novel,  "The  Russian  Virgins,"  passed  unmutilated. 
I  wonder  what  would  be  the  fate  of  my  peaceful 
essays  should  they  receive  the  unmerited  honor  of 
translation  and  reach  the  frontiers  of  Muscovy  ! 

As  to  the  foreign  reviews,  they  are  submitted  to  a 
somewhat  amusing  process,  called  the  caviar.  Sus- 
picious passages,  if  they  escape  the  scissors,  get  an 
extra  dash  of  printing-ink.  Thus  the  Russian  is  not 
even  free  to  read  till  he  goes  from  home,  and  by 
force  of  dieting  he  suffers  from  frequent  mental  in- 
digestion, and  the  weakest  sort  of  spirits  goes  to  his 
head! 

All  this  goes  to  prove  that  if  speculative  nihilism 


152    R  USS1AN  NIHILISM  AND  ITS  LITER  A  TURE. 

is  a  moral  infirmity  congenital  to  the  soul  of  the 
Russian,  active  and  political  nihilism  is  the  fruit  of 
the  peculiar  situation  of  the  empire.  The  phrase  is 
stale,  but  in  the  present  case  accurate.  Russia  is 
passing  through  a  period  of  transition.  She  goes 
forward  to  an  uncertain  future,  stumbles  and  falls ; 
her  feet  bleed,  her  senses  swim ;  she  has  fits  of 
dementia  and  even  of  epilepsy.  Good  intention 
goes  for  nought,  whether  the  latent  generosity  of 
revolutionaries,  or  of  government  and  Czar.  Where 
is  there  a  person  of  nobler  desires  and  projects  than 
Alexander  II.  ?  But  his  great  reforms  seemed  rather 
to  accelerate  than  to  calm  the  revolutionary  fever. 

As  long  as  the  revolution  does  not  descend  from 
the  cultivated  classes  upon  the  masses  of  the  people, 
it  must  be  content  with  occasional  spurts,  chimerical 
attempts,  and  a  few  homicides ;  but  if  some  day  the 
socialist  propaganda,  which  now  begins  to  take  effect 
in  the  workshops,  shall  make  itself  heard  in  the  coun- 
try villages,  and  the  peasant  lend  an  ear  to  those 
who  say  to  him,  "  Rise,  make  the  sign  of  the  Cross 
and  take  thy  hatchet  with  thee,"  then  Russia  will 
show  us  a  most  formidable  insurrection,  and  that 
world  of  country-folk,  patient  as  cattle,  but  fanatical 
and  overwhelming  in  their  fury,  once  let  loose,  will 
sweep  everything  before  it.  Nothing  will  appease  or 
satisfy  it.  The  constitutions  of  Western  lands  they 
have  already  torn  in  pieces  without  perusal.  Even 
the  revolutionaries  would  prefer  to  those  illusory 
statutes  a  Czar  standing  at  the  head  of  the  peasants, 
and  institutions  born  within  their  own  land.  It  is 


THE  POLICE  AND   THE  CENSOR.  153 

said  that  now,  just  as  the  nihilist  frenzy  is  beginning 
to  subside,  one  can  perceive  a  smouldering  agitation 
among  the  people  manifesting  itself  occasionally  in 
conflagrations,  anti-Semitic  outbreaks,  and  frequent 
agrarian  crimes.  What  a  clouded  horizon !  What 
volcanic  quakings  beneath  all  that  snow !  On  the 
one  hand  the  autocratic  power,  the  secular  arm, 
consecrated  by  time,  tradition,  and  national  life ;  on 
the  other  the  far-reaching  revolution,  fanatical  and 
impossible  to  appease  with  what  has  satisfied  other 
nations;  and  at  bottom  the  cry  of  the  peasants, 
like  the  sullen  roar  of  the  ocean,  for  —  it  is  a  little 
thing  —  the  land  ! 


ISooft  III. 

RISE   OF  THE   RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 


I. 

THE   BEGINNINGS  OF  RUSSIAN  LITERATURE. 

FROM  this  state  of  anguish,  of  unrest,  of  uncertainty, 
has  been  brought  forth,  like  amber  from  the  salt 
sea,  a  most  interesting  literature.  Into  this  relatively 
peaceful  domain  we  are  about  to  penetrate.  But 
before  speaking  of  the  novel  itself  I  must  mention 
as  briefly  as  possible  the  sources  and  vicissitudes  of 
Russian  letters  up  to  the  time  when  they  assumed  a 
national  and  at  the  same  time  a  social  and  political 
character. 

I  will  avoid  tiresome  details,  and  the  repetition  of 
Russian  names  which  are  formidable  and  harsh  to 
our  senses,  besides  being  confusing  and  at  first  sight 
all  very  much  alike,  and  much  given  to  terminating 
in  of,  —  a  syllable  which  on  Russian  lips  is  neverthe- 
less very  euphonious  and  sweet.  I  will  also  avoid 
the  mention  of  books  of  secondary  importance ;  for 
as  this  is  not  a  course  of  Russian  literature,  it  would 
be  pedantry  to  refer  to  more  than  those  I  have  read 


156  RISE  OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

from  cover  to  cover.  I  will  mention  in  passing  only 
a  few  authors  of  lesser  genius  than  the  four  whom 
Melchior  de  Voguie  very  correctly  estimates  as  the 
perfect  national  types ;  namely,  Gogol,  Turguenief, 
Dostoiewsky,  and  Tolstoi',  and  I  will  give  only  a 
succinct  review  of  the  primitive  period,  the  clas- 
sicism and  romanticism,  the  satire  and  comedy  an- 
tecedent to  Gogol,  this  much  being  necessary  in 
order  to  bring  out  the  transformation  due  to  the 
prodigious  genius  of  this  founder  of  realism,  and 
consummated  in  the  contemporary  novel. 

Literature,  considered  not  as  rhetorical  feats  or 
as  the  art  of  speaking  and  writing  well,  but  as  a  mani- 
festation of  national  life  or  of  the  peculiar  inclinations 
of  a  people,  exists  from  the  time  when  the  spirit 
of  the  people  is  spontaneously  revealed  in  legends, 
traditions,  proverbs,  and  songs.  The  fertility  of 
Russian  popular  literature  is  well  known  to  students 
of  folk-lore.  Critics  have  demonstrated  to  us  that 
between  the  primitive  oral,  mythical,  and  poetical 
literature  of  Russia  and  the  present  novel  (which  is 
profoundly  philosophical  in  character,  and  inspired 
by  that  austere  muse,  the  Real)  there  is  as  close  a 
relationship  as  between  the  gray-haired  grandfather 
who  has  all  his  life  followed  the  plough,  and  his  off- 
spring who  holds  a  chair  in  a  university.  Russian 
literature  was  born  beside  the  Danube,  in  the  father- 
land of  the  Sclavonic  people.  The  various  tribes 
dispersed  themselves  over  the  Black  Sea,  and  the 
Russian  Sclavs,  following  the  course  of  the  Dnieper, 
began  to  elaborate  their  heroic  mythology  with  feats 


BEGINNINGS  OP  RUSSIAN  LITERATURE.     157 

of  gods  and  demi-gods  against  the  forces  of  Nature, 
and  monsters  and  other  fantastic  beings.  A  warlike 
mode  of  life  and  a  semi-savage  imagination  are  re- 
flected in  their  legends  and  songs.  All  this  period 
is  covered  by  the  bilinas,  a  word  which  is  explained 
by  Russian  etymology  to  mean  songs  of  the  past. 
These  epics  tell  of  the  exploits  of  ancient  warriors 
who  personify  the  blind  and  chaotic  forces  of  Nature 
and  the  elements.  Esviatogor,  for  example,  repre- 
sents a  mountain  ;  Volk  may  mean  a  wolf,  a  bull,  or 
an  ant;  there  is  a  godlike  tiller  of  the  soil  who 
stands  for  Russian  agriculture,  and  who  is  the  popu- 
lar and  indigenous  hero,  in  opposition  to  the  fighting 
and  adventurous  hero  Volga,  who  stands  for  the  rul- 
ing classes.  Perhaps  these  bilinas  and  the  Finnish 
Kalevala  are  the  only  primitive  epics  in  which  the 
laborer  plays  a  first  part  and  puts  the  fighting  hero 
into  the  shade.  In  these  national  poems  of  a  people 
descended  from  the  Scythians,  who  in  the  days  of 
Herodotus  were  proud  of  calling  themselves  farmers 
or  laborers,  the  two  most  attractive  figures  are  the 
heroes  of  the  plough,  Mikula  and  Ilia ;  it  is  as  though 
the  singers  of  long  ago  started  the  worship  of  the 
peasant,  which  is  the  dogma  of  the  present  novel,  or 
as  though  the  apotheosis  of  agriculture  were  an  idea 
rooted  in  the  deepest  soil  of  the  national  thought 
of  Russia. 

Next  after  this  primitive  cycle  comes  the  age  of 
chivalry,  known  under  the  name  of  Kief  cycle,  which 
has  its  focus  in  the  Prince  Vladimir  called  the  Red 
Sun ;  but  even  in  this  Round  Table  epic  we  find  the 


158  RISE  OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

heroic  mujik,  the  giant  Cossack,  Ilias  de  Moron. 
The  splendor  of  the  hero-mythical  epoch  faded  after 
the  advent  of  Christianity,  and  the  heroes  of  Kief 
and  Novgorod  fell  into  oblivion ;  one  bilina  tells  now 
"  the  paladins  of  Holy  Russia  disappeared ;  a  great 
new  force  that  was  not  of  this  world  came  upon 
them,"  and  the  paladins,  unable  to  conquer  it,  and 
seeing  that  it  multiplied  and  became  only  more 
powerful  with  every  stroke,  were  afraid,  and  ran  and 
hid  themselves  in  the  caverns,  which  closed  upon 
them  forever.  Since  that  day  there  are  no  more 
paladins  in  Holy  Russia. 

In  every  bilina,  and  also  in  songs  which  celebrate 
the  seed-time,  the  pagan  feast  of  the  summer  solstice, 
and  the  spring-time,  we  notice  the  two  characteristics 
of  Russian  thought,  —  a  lively  imagination  and  a 
dreamy  sadness,  which  is  most  evident  in  the  love- 
songs.  On  coming  in  contact  with  Christianity  the 
pagan  tale  became  a  legend,  and  the  clergy,  brought 
from  Byzantium  by  Valdimir  the  Baptizer,  gave  the 
people  the  Gospel  in  the  Sclavonic  tongue,  translated 
by  two  Greek  brothers,  Cyril  and  Methodius,  and  the 
day  of  liturgical  and  sacred  literature  was  at  hand. 
The  apostles  of  Christianity  arranged  the  alphabet  of 
thirty-eight  letters,  which  represent  all  the  sounds  in 
the  Sclav  language,  and  founded  also  the  grammar  and 
rhetoric.  As  in  every  other  part  of  Christendom,  these 
early  preachers  were  the  first  to  enlighten  the  people, 
bringing  ideas  of  culture  entirely  new  to  the  barba- 
rous Sclavonic  tribes ;  and  the  poor  monk,  bent  over 
his  parchment,  writing  with  a  sharp-pointed  reed,  was 


BEGINNINGS  OF  RUSSIAN  LITERATURE.    159 

the  first  educator  of  the  nation.  In  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury the  first  Russian  literary  efforts  began  to  take 
shape,  being,  like  all  early-written  literature,  of  essen- 
tially clerical  origin  and  character,  —  such  as  epistles, 
sermons,  and  moral  exhortations.  The  chief  writers 
of  that  time  were  the  monk  Nestor,  the  metropolitan 
Nicephorous,  and  Cyril  the  Golden-Mouthed,  who 
imitated  the  florid  Byzantine  eloquence.  At  the  side 
of  ecclesiastical  literature  history  was  born ;  the  lives 
of  the  saints  prepared  the  ground  for  the  chroniclers, 
and  Nestor's  Chronicle,  the  first  book  on  Russian 
history,  was  written.  The  early  essays  in  profane 
history,  which  took  the  form  of  fables  and  trenchant 
sayings  disclosing  a  vein  of  satire,  still  smack  of  the 
ecclesiastical  flavor,  although  they  contain  the  instincts 
of  a  laic  and  civil  literature. 

The  people  had  their  epic,  the  clergy  accumulated 
their  treasures,  but  the  warriors  and  knights,  who 
with  the  sovereign  formed  a  separate  society,  must 
have  their  heroic  cycle  also ;  and  bards  and  singers 
were  found  to  give  it  to  them  in  fragmentary  pieces, 
among  which  the  most  celebrated  is  the  "Song  of 
the  Host  of  Igor,"  which  relates  the  victories  of  a 
prince  over  the  savage  tribes  of  the  steppes.  The 
poem  is  a  mixture  of  pagan  and  Christian  wonders, 
which  is  only  natural,  since  in  the  twelfth  century 
(the  era  of  its  composition)  Christianity,  while  trium- 
phant in  fact,  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  driving  out 
the  old  Sclavonic  deities. 

In  the  eighth  century  the  Tartar  invasion  inter- 
rupted the  course  of  civil  literature.  Russia  then  had 


160  RISE   OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

no  time  for  the  remembrance  of  anything  but  her 
disasters,  and  the  Church  became  again  the  only 
depository  of  the  civilization  brought  from  Byzan- 
tium, and  of  the  intellectual  riches  of  the  nation ;  for 
the  Khans,  who  destroyed  everything  else,  regarded 
the  churches  and  images  with  superstitious  respect. 
The  little  then  written  expresses  the  grief  of  Russia 
over  her  catastrophe,  but  in  sermon  form,  presenting 
it  as  a  punishment  from  Heaven,  and  a  portent  of  the 
end  of  the  world ;  it  was  the  universal  panic  of  the 
Middle  Ages  arrived  in  Russia  three  centuries  late. 
Until  the  fourteenth  century  there  was  no  revival  of 
historical  narrations  in  sufficient  numbers  to  show  the 
preponderance  of  the  epic  spirit  in  the  Russian  peo- 
ple. In  the  fifteenth  century,  for  the  first  time,  oral 
literature  really  penetrated  into  the  domain  of  the 
written ;  but  the  inevitable  and  tiresome  mediaeval 
stories  of  Alexander  the  Great  and  the  Siege  of  Troy, 
the  Thousand  and  One  Nights,  and  others,  entering 
by  way  of  Servia  and  Bulgaria,  appear  among  the 
literature  of  the  southern  Sclavs  ;  and  tales  of  chivalry 
from  Byzantium  are  also  rearranged  and  copied, — 
an  element  of  imitation  and  artificiality  which  never 
took  deep  root  in  Russia,  however.  Aside  from  some 
few  tales,  the  only  germs  of  vitality  are  to  be  found 
in  the  apocryphal  religious  narratives,  which  were  an 
early  expression  of  the  spirit  of  mysticism  and  exe- 
gesis, natural  to  Muscovite  thought ;  and  in  the  songs, 
also  religious,  chanted  by  pilgrims  on  their  way  to 
visit  the  shrines,  and  by  the  people  also,  but  proba- 
bly the  work  of  the  monks.  These  are  still  sung  by 


BEGINNINGS  OF  RUSSIAN  LITERATURE.    161 

beggars  on  the  streets,  and  the  people  listen  with 
delight. 

In  the  sixteenth  century  there  were  Maximus  the 
Greek  (the  Savonarola  of  Russia),  the  priest  Silvester, 
author  of  "  Domostroi',"  a  book  which  was  held  to 
contain  the  model  of  ancient  Russian  society,  and 
lastly  the  Czar,  Ivan  the  Terrible  himself,  who  wrote 
many  notable  epistles,  models  of  irony.  The  songs 
of  the  people  still  flourished,  and  they  were  provided 
with  subject-matter  by  the  awful  figure  and  actions  of 
the  emperor,  who  was  beloved  by  the  people,  because, 
like  Pedro  the  Cruel  of  Castile,  he  dared  to  bridle  the 
nobles.  The  popular  poet  describes  him  as  giving  to 
a  potter  the  insignia  and  dignity  of  a  Boyar.  This 
tyrant,  the  most  ferocious  that  humanity  ever  endured, 
busied  himself  with  establishing  the  art  of  printing  in 
Russia,  with  the  help  of  Maximus  the  Greek,  who 
was  a  great  friend  of  Aldus  the  Venetian,  the  famous 
printer.  According  to  the  Metropolitan  Macarius, 
God  himself  from  his  high  throne  put  this  thought 
into  the  heart  of  the  Czar.  On  the  ist  of  May,  1564, 
the  first  book  printed  in  Russia,  "The  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,"  made  its  appearance. 

The  Russian  theatre  grew  out  of  the  symbolic 
ceremonies  of  the  church  and  the  representations 
given  by  the  Polish  Jesuits  in  the  colleges;  and 
through  Poland,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  by  means 
of  translations  or  imitations,  came  also  that  kind  of 
literary  recreations  known  in  France  and  Italy  during 
the  fourteenth  century  under  the  name  of  novels  and 
facetias.  But  these  did  not  intercept  the  natural 


1 62  RISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

course  of  the  national  spirit,  nor  drown  the  popular 
voice,  —  the  duma,  or  meditation,  the  religious  canticle, 
the  satire,  and  especially  the  incessant  reiteration  of 
the  bilinas,  which  were  now  devoted  to  relating  the 
heroic  conquests  of  the  Cossacks.  The  impulse 
communicated  to  Russian  thought  by  Peter  the 
Great  at  last  obliterated  the  chasm  between  popular 
and  written  literature.  Peter  established  in  Russia 
a  school  of  translators ;  whatever  he  thought  useful 
and  beneficial  he  had  correctly  translated,  and  then 
he  established  the  academy.  He  set  up  the  first 
regular  press  and  founded  the  first  periodical  paper. 
Not  having  much  confidence  in  ecclesiastical  litera- 
ture, he  commanded  that  the  monks  should  be  de- 
prived of  pen,  ink,  and  paper;  and  on  the  other 
hand  he  revived  the  theatre,  which  was  apparently 
dead,  and  under  the  influence  of  his  reforms  there 
arose  the  first  Russian  writer  who  can  properly  be 
called  such,  —  Lomonosof,  the  personification  of  aca- 
demical classicism,  who  wrote  because  he  thought 
it  his  business,  in  a  well-ordered  State,  to  write  in- 
cessantly, to  polish  and  perfect  the  taste,  the  speech, 
and  even  the  characters  of  his  fellow-countrymen; 
he  was  always  a  rhetorician,  a  censor,  a  corrector, 
and  we  seem  to  see  him  always  armed  with  scis- 
sors and  rule,  pruning  and  shaping  the  myrtles  in 
the  garden  of  literature.  The  Czar  pensioned  this 
ornamental  poet,  after  the  fashion  of  French  mon- 
archs,  and  he  in  turn  bequeathed  to  his  country,  of 
course,  a  heroic  poem  entitled  "  Petriada."  His  best 
service  to  the  national  literature  was  in  the  line  of 


BEGINNINGS  OP  RUSSSAN  LITERATURE.    163 

philology ;  he  found  a  language  unrefined  and  ham- 
pered by  old  Sclavonic  forms,  and  he  refined  it, 
softened  it,  made  it  more  flexible,  and  ready  to 
yield  sweeter  melody  to  those  who  played  upon  it 
thereafter. 

Semiramis,  in  her  turn,  was  not  less  eager  to  for- 
ward the  cause  of  letters ;  she  had  also  her  palace 
poet,  Derjavine,  the  Pindar  of  her  court;  and  not 
being  satisfied  with  this,  her  imperial  hands  grasped 
the  foils  and  fought  out  long  arguments  in  the  peri- 
odicals, to  which  she  contributed  for  a  long  time. 
Woman,  just  at  that  time  emerging  from  Oriental 
seclusion,  as  during  the  Renaissance  in  Europe, 
manifested  an  extraordinary  desire  to  learn  and  to 
exercise  her  mind.  Catherine  became  a  journalist, 
a  satirist,  and  a  dramatic  author ;  and  a  lady  of  her 
court,  the  Princess  Daschkof,  directed  the  Academy 
of  Sciences,  and  presided  over  the  Russian  Acade- 
my founded  by  Catherine  for  the  improvement  and 
purification  of  the  language,  while  three  letters  in 
the  new  dictionary  are  the  exclusive  work  of  this 
learned  princess. 

Catherine  effectively  protected  her  literary  men, 
being  convinced  that  letters  are  a  means  of  helping 
the  advancement  of  a  barbarous  people,  in  fact  the 
highways  of  communication ;  and  under  her  influence 
a  literary  Pleiad  appeared,  among  whom  were  Von- 
Vizine,  the  first  original  Russian  dramatist;  Derja- 
vine, the  official  bard  and  oracle ;  and  Kerakof,  the 
pseudo-classic  author  of  the  "Rusiada."  Court  taste 
prevailed,  and  Montesquieu,  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  and 


164  KISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

Diderot  ruled  as  intellectual  masters  of  a  people 
totally  opposed  to  the  French  in  their  inmost 
thoughts. 

The  thing  most  grateful  to  the  Russian  poet  in 
Catherine's  time  was  to  be  called  the  Horace  or  the 
Pindar  of  his  country;  the  nobles  hid  their  Mus- 
covite ruggedness  under  a  coat  of  Voltairian  varnish, 
and  even  the  seminaries  resounded  with  denuncia- 
tions of  fanaticism  and  horrid  superstition.  Other 
nations  have  been  known  to  go  thus  masked  un- 
awares. But  new  currents  were  undermining  the 
possessions  of  the  Encyclopedists.  During  the  last 
years  of  Catherine's  reign  the  theosophical  doctrines 
from  Sweden  and  Germany  infiltrated  Russia  ;  mysti- 
cism brought  free-masonry,  which  finally  mounted 
the  throne  with  Alexander  I.,  the  tender  friend  of 
the  sentimental  Valeria ;  and  even  had  Madame 
Krudener  never  appeared  to  shape  in  her  visions 
the  protest  of  the  Russian  soul  against  the  dryness 
and  frivolity  of  the  French  philosophers,  the  fresh 
lyric  quality  of  Rousseau,  Florian,  and  Bernardin 
Saint-Pierre  would  still  have  flowed  in  upon  the 
people  of  the  North  by  means  of  that  eminent  man 
and  historian,  Karamzine. 

Before  achieving  the  title  of  the  Titus  Livius  of 
Russia,  Karamzine,  being  a  keen  intellectual  ob- 
server of  what  was  going  on  abroad,  founded,  by 
means  of  a  novel,  the  emotional  school,  declaring 
that  the  aim  of  art  is  "  to  pour  out  floods  of  grateful 
impressions  upon  the  realms  of  the  sentimental." 
This  sounds  like  mere  jargon,  but  such  was  their 


RUSSIAN  ROMANTICISM.  165 

mode  of  speech  at  the  time;  and  that  their  spirits 
demanded  just  such  food  is  proved  by  the  general 
use  of  it,  and  by  the  tears  that  rained  upon  the  said 
novel,  in  which  the  Russian  mujik  appears  in  the 
disguise  of  a  shepherd  of  Arcadia.  These  innocent 
absurdities,  which  were  the  delight  of  our  own  grand- 
mothers, prepared  the  way  for  Romanticism,  and  the 
appearance  of  Lermontof  and  Puchkine. 


II. 

RUSSIAN   ROMANTICISM.  —  THE   LYRIC  POETS. 

THE  period  of  lyric  poetry  represented  by  these 
two  excellent  poets,  Lermontof  and  Puchkine,  was 
considered  the  most  glorious  in  Russian  literature, 
and  there  are  yet  many  who  esteem  it  as  such  in 
spite  of  the  contemporary  novel.  Undoubtedly 
rhyme  can  do  wonders  with  this  rich  tongue  in 
which  words  are  full  of  color,  melody,  and  shape, 
as  well  as  ideas.  A  fine  critic  has  said  that  Rus- 
sian poetry  is  untranslatable,  and  that  one  must 
feel  the  beauty  of  certain  stanzas  of  Lermontof  and 
Puchkine  sensually,  to  realize  why  they  are  beyond 
even  the  most  celebrated  verses  in  the  world. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  century  classicism  was 
in  its  decline ;  Russia  was  leaving  her  youth  behind 
her,  and  after  1812  she  became  totally  changed. 
The  Napoleonic  wars  caused  the  alliance  with  Ger- 
many, and  secret  societies  of  German  origin  flour- 
ished under  the  favor  of  the  versatile  Alexander  I. 


1 66  RISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

Weary  of  the  artificial  literature  imposed  by  the  iron 
will  of  Peter  the  Great,  and  stirred  by  a  great  desire 
for  independence,  like  all  the  other  nations  awakened 
by  Napoleon,  Russia  held  her  breath  and  listened 
to  the  birdlike  song  of  the  harbingers  of  a  new 
era,  to  the  great  romantic  poets  who,  almost  simul- 
taneously and  with  marvellous  accord,  burst  forth 
in  England,  Italy,  France,  Spain,  and  Russia.  The 
air  was  full  of  melody  like  the  sudden  twang  of 
harp-strings  in  the  darkness  of  the  night ;  and  per- 
haps the  autocratic  severity  of  Nicholas  I.,  by  forcing 
attention  from  public  affairs  and  concentrating  it 
upon  literature,  was  a  help  rather  than  a  hindrance 
to  this  revelation  and  development. 

Alexander  Puchkine,  the  demi-god  of  Russian 
verse,  carried  African  as  well  as  Sclavonic  blood 
in  his  veins,  being  the  grandson  of  an  Abyssinian 
named  Abraham  Hannibal,  a  sort  of  Othello  upon 
whom  Peter  the  Great  bestowed  the  rank  of  general 
and  married  him  to  a  lady  of  the  court.  During 
the  poet's  childhood  an  old  servant  beguiled  him 
with  legends,  fables,  and  popular  tales,  and  the  seed 
fell  upon  good  ground.  He  left  home  at  the  age 
of  fourteen,  having  quarrelled  with  all  his  family 
and  become  an  out-and-out  Voltairian ;  his  professor 
at  the  Lyceum  —  of  whom  no  more  needs  be  said 
than  that  he  was  a  brother  of  Marat  —  had  instilled 
into  his  youthful  mind  the  superficial  atheism  then 
the  fashion ;  his  other  tutors  declared  that  this  im- 
petuous and  fanciful  child  was  throwing  away  body 
and  soul ;  yet,  when  the  occasion  came,  Puchkine 


RUSSIAN  ROMANTICISM.  167 

remembered  all  that  his  old  nurse  had  told  him, 
and  found  himself  with  an  exquisite  aesthetic  instinct, 
in  touch  with  the  popular  feeling. 

When  Nicholas  I.,  in  December,  1825,  mounted 
the  throne  vacated  by  the  death  of  Alexander  I. 
and  the  renunciation  of  the  Grand-Duke  Constantine, 
Puchkine,  then  scarcely  more  than  twenty-six  years 
of  age,  found  himself  in  exile  for  the  second  time. 
His  first  appearance  in  public  life  coincided  with 
the  reactionary  mood  of  Alexander  I.  and  the  favor- 
itism of'  the  retrogressive  minister,  Count  Arakschef ; 
and  the  young  men  from  the  Lyceum,  who  had 
been  steeping  their  souls  in  liberalism,  found  them- 
selves defrauded  of  their  expectations  of  active  life, 
discussions  closed,  meetings  prohibited,  and  Russia 
again  in  a  trance  of  Asiatic  immobility.  The  young 
nobility  began  to  entertain  themselves  with  con- 
spiracy ;  and  those  who  had  no  talent  for  that,  spent 
their  time  in  drinking  and  dissipation.  Puchkine 
was  as  much  inclined  toward  the  one  as  the  other. 
His  passionate  temperament  led  him  into  all  sorts 
of  adventures  ;  his  eager  imagination  and  his  literary 
tastes  incited  him  to  political  essays,  though  under 
pain  of  censure.  Living  amid  a  whirl  of  amusement, 
and  coveting  an  introduction  to  aristocratic  circles, 
he  launched  his  celebrated  poem  of  "  Russia  and 
Ludmilla,"  which  placed  him  at  once  at  the  head 
of  the  poets  of  his  day,  who  had  formed  themselves 
into  a  society  called  "  Arzamas,"  which  was  to  Rus- 
sian Romanticism  what  the  Ce'nacle  was  to  the 
French,  —  a  centre  of  attack  and  defence  against 


1 68  RISE   OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

classicism ;  but  at  length  their  literary  discussions 
overstepped  the  forbidden  territory  of  politics,  and 
certain  ideas  were  broached  which  ended  in  the 
conspiracy  of  December.  If  Puchkine  was  not  him- 
self a  conspirator,  he  was  at  least  acquainted  with 
the  movement ;  his  ode  to  liberty  alarmed  the  police, 
and  the  Czar  said  to  the  director  of  the  Lyceum, 
"  Your  former  pupil  is  inundating  Russia  with  revo- 
lutionary verses,  and  every  boy  knows  them  by 
heart."  That  same  afternoon  the  Czar  signed  the 
order  for  Puchkine's  banishment,  —  a  great  good- 
fortune  for  the  poet ;  for  had  he  not  been  banished 
he  might  have  been  implicated  in  the  conspiracy 
about  to  burst  forth,  and  sent  to  Siberia  or  to  the 
quicksilver  mines.  He  was  expelled  from  Odessa, 
which  was  his  first  place  of  confinement,  because 
his  Byronic  bravado  had  a  pernicious  influence 
upon  the  young  men  of  the  place,  and  he  was 
sent  home  to  his  father,  with  whom  he  could 
come  to  no  understanding  whatever.  While  there 
he  heard  of  the  death  of  Alexander  and  the  events 
of  December.  Upon  knowing  that  his  friends 
were  all  compromised  and  under  arrest,  he  started 
for  St.  Petersburg,  but  having  met  a  priest  and 
seen  a  hare  cross  his  path,  he  considered  these 
ill  omens,  and,  yielding  to  superstition,  he  turned 
back.  Soon  afterward  he  wrote  to  the  new  Czar 
begging  reprieve  of  banishment,  which  was  granted. 
The  Iron  Czar  sent  for  him  to  come  to  the  palace, 
and  held  with  him  a  conversation  or  dialogue  which 
has  become  famous  in  the  annals  of  the  historians : 


RUSSIAN  ROMANTICISM.  169 

"  If  you  had  found  yourself  in  St.  Petersburg  on 
the  25th  of  December,  where  would  you  have  been?" 
asked  Nicholas. 

"  Among  the  rebels,"  answered  the  poet. 

Far  from  being  angry,  the  sovereign  was  pleased 
with  his  reply,  and  he  embraced  Puchkine,  saying : 
"  Your  banishment  is  at  an  end ;  and  do  not  let  fear 
of  the  censors  spoil  your  poetry,  Alexander,  son  of 
Sergius,  for  I  myself  will  be  your  censor." 

This  is  not  the  only  instance  of  this  inflexible 
autocrat's  warm-heartedness.  More  than  once  his 
imperial  hand  stayed  the  sentence  of  the  censors  and 
gave  the  wing  to  genius.  Nicholas  was  not  afraid  of 
art,  and  was,  besides,  an  intelligent  amateur  of  litera- 
ture. We  shall  see  how  he  protected  even  the  satire 
of  Gogol.  And  so,  with  a  royal  suavity  which  softens 
the  most  selfish  character,  Nicholas  gained  to  his 
side  the  first  poet  of  Russia,  and  forever  alienated 
him  from  the  cause  for  which  his  friends  suffered  in 
gloomy  fortresses  and  in  exile,  or  perished  on  the 
scaffold.  Puchkine  had  no  other  choice  than  to 
accept  the  situation  or  forfeit  his  freedom,  —  to  make 
peace  with  the  emperor  or  to  go  and  vegetate  in 
some  village  and  bury  his  talent  alive.  He  chose  his 
vocation  as  poet,  accepted  the  imperial  favor,  and 
returned  to  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  found  a  remnant 
of  the  Arzamas,  but  now  languid  and  without  creative 
fire.  Being  restored  to  his  place  in  high  society,  he 
tasted  the  delights  of  living  in  a  sphere  with  which 
his  refined  and  aristocratic  nature  was  in  harmony. 
He  was  a  poet ;  he  enjoyed  the  privileges  and  im- 


170  RISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

munities  of  a  demi-god,  the  just  tribute  paid  to  the 
productive  genius  of  beauty.  And  yet  at  times  the 
pride  and  independence  hushed  within  his  soul 
stirred  again,  and  he  thought  with  horror  upon  the 
hypocrisy  of  his  position  as  imperial  oracle.  But  he 
found  himself  at  the  height  of  his  glory,  doing  his 
best  work,  seldom  annoyed  by  the  censorial  scissors, 
thanks  to  the  Czar;  and  so,  flattered  by  the  throne, 
the  court,  and  the  public,  he  led  to  the  altar  his 
"brown-skinned  virgin,"  his  beautiful  Natalia,  with 
whom  he  was  so  deeply  in  love.  Having  satisfied 
every  earthly  desire,  he  must  needs,  like  Polycrates, 
throw  his  ring  into  the  sea. 

All  his  happiness  came  to  a  sudden  end,  and  not 
only  his  happiness,  but  his  life,  went  to  pay  his 
debt  to  that  high  society  which  had  received  him 
with  smiles  and  fair  promises.  Puchkine's  end  is  as 
dramatic  as  any  novel.  A  certain  French  Legitimist 
who  had  been  well  received  by  the  nobility  at  St. 
Petersburg  took  advantage  of  the  chivalrous  customs 
then  in  vogue  there,  to  pay  court  to  the  poet's  beau- 
tiful wife,  electing  her  as  the  lady  of  his  thoughts 
without  disguise.  Society  protected  this  little  skir- 
mish, and  assisted  the  gallant  to  meet  his  lady  at 
every  entertainment  and  in  every  salon;  and  as 
Puchkine,  though  quite  unsuspicious,  showed  plainly 
that  he  did  not  enjoy  the  game,  they  amused  them- 
selves with  exciting  and  annoying  him,  ridiculing 
him,  and  making  him  the  butt  of  epigrams  and 
anonymous  verses.  The  marriage  of  "  Dante  "  —  as 
the  adorer  of  his  wife  was  called  —  with  his  wife's 


RUSSIAN  ROMANTICISM.  171 

sister,  far  from  calming  his  nerves,  only  irritated  him 
the  more,  and  he  believed  it  to  be  a  stratagem  on 
the  lover's  part,  a  means  of  approaching  the  nearer 
to  his  desires.  Becoming  desperate,  he  sought  and 
obtained  a  challenge  to  a  duel,  and  fell  mortally 
wounded  by  a  ball  from  his  adversary.  Two  days 
later  he  died,  having  just  received  a  letter  from  the 
emperor,  saying :  — 

"  DEAR  ALEXANDER,  Son  of  Sergius,  —  If  it  is  the 
will  of  Providence  that  we  should  never  meet  again  in 
this  world,  I  counsel  you  to  die  like  a  Christian.  Give 
yourself  no  anxiety  for  your  wife  and  children;  I  will 
care  for  them." 

Russia  cried  out  with  indignation  at  the  news  of 
his  death,  accusing  polite  society  in  round  terms  of 
having  taken  the  part  of  the  professional  libertine 
against  the  husband,  —  of  the  French  adventurer 
against  their  illustrious  compatriot ;  and  Lermontof 
voiced  the  national  anger  in  some  celebrated  lines 
to  this  effect :  — 

"  Thy  last  days  were  poisoned  by  the  vicious  ridicule 
of  low  detractors;  thou  hast  died  thirsting  for  ven- 
geance, moaning  bitterly  to  see  thy  most  beautiful 
hopes  vanished;  none  understood  the  deep  emotion 
of  thy  last  words,  and  the  last  sigh  of  thy  dying  lips 
was  lost." 

But  I  agree  with  those  who,  in  spite  of  this  fine 
elegy,  do  not  regret  the  premature  end  of  the  roman- 
tic poet.  His  life,  exuberant,  brilliant,  fecund,  pas- 
sionate, like  that  of  Byron,  could  have  no  more 


i-j2  RISE  OF    THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

appropriate  termination  than  a  pistol-shot.  He  died 
before  the  end  of  romanticism  ;  his  tragic  history  lent 
him  a  halo  which  lifts  his  figure  above  the  mists  of 
time.  I  have  seen  Victor  Hugo  and  our  own  Zorilla 
in  their  old  age,  and  I  was  not  guilty  of  wishing  them 
anything  but  long  life  and  prosperity;  but,  aestheti- 
cally speaking,  it  seemed  to  me  that  both  of  them 
had  lived  forty  years  too  long,  and  that  Alfred  de 
Musset,  Espronceda,  and  Byron  were  well  off  in 
their  glorious  tombs. 

Puchkine  belongs  undeniably  to  the  great  general 
currents  of  European  literature ;  only  now  and  then 
does  he  manifest  the  peculiar  genius  of  his  country 
which  was  so  strongly  marked  in  Gogol.  But  it 
would  be  unjust  to  consider  him  a  mere  imitator  of 
foreign  romanticists,  and  some  even  claim  that  he 
always  had  one  foot  upon  the  soil  of  classicism, 
taking  the  phrase  in  the  Helenic  sense,  as  particu- 
larly shown  in  his  "  Eugene  Oneguine,"  and  that, 
were  he  to  live  again,  his  talents  would  undergo  a 
transformation  and  shine  forth  in  the  modern  novel 
and  the  national  theatre.  Besides  being  a  lyric  poet 
of  first  rank,  Puchkine  must  also  be  considered  a 
superb  prose  writer,  having  learned  from  Voltaire  a 
harmony  of  arrangement,  a  discreet  selection  of 
details,  and  a  concise,  clear,  and  rapid  phrasing. 
His  novel,  "  The  Captain's  Daughter,"  is  extremely 
pretty  and  interesting,  at  times  amusing,  or  again 
very  touching,  and  in  my  opinion  preferable  in  its 
simplicity  to  the  interminable  narratives  of  Walter 
Scott.  But  Puchkine  has  one  remarkable  peculiarity, 


RUSSIAN  ROMANTICISM.  173 

which  is,  that  while  he  had  a  keen  sympathy  with 
the  popular  poetry,  and  was  fully  sensible  of  the  reve- 
lation of  it  by  Gogol,  which  he  applauded  with  all 
his  heart,  yet  the  author  of  "  Boris  Godonof "  was  so 
caught  in  the  meshes  of  romanticism  that  he  never 
could  employ  his  faculties  in  poetry  of  a  national 
character.  Puchkine's  works  have  no  ethnical  value 
at  all.  His  melancholy  is  not  the  despairing  sadness 
of  the  Russian,  but  the  romantic  morbidezza  expressed 
often  in  much  the  same  words  by  Byron,  Espronceda, 
and  de  Musset.  The  phenomenon  is  common,  and 
easily  explained.  It  lies  in  the  fact  that  romanticism 
was  always  and  everywhere  prejudicial  to  the  mani- 
festation of  nationality,  and  made  itself  a  nation 
apart,  composed  of  half-a-dozen  persons  from  every 
European  country.  Realism,  with  its  principles  — 
whether  tacitly  or  explicitly  accepted  —  of  human 
verities,  heredity,  atavism,  race  and  place  influences, 
etc.,  became  a  necessity  in  order  that  writers  might 
follow  their  natural  instincts  and  speak  in  their  own 
mother  tongue. 

Within  the  restricted  circle  of  poets  who  hovered 
around  Puchkine,  one  deserves  especial  mention, 
namely,  Lermontof.  He  is  the  second  lyric  poet  of 
Russia,  and  perhaps  embodies  the  spirit  of  roman- 
ticism even  more  than  Puchkine;  he  is  the  real 
Russian  Byron.  His  life  is  singularly  like  that  of 
Puchkine,  he  having  also  been  banished  to  the 
Caucasus,  and  for  the  very  reason  of  having  writ- 
ten the  elegy  upon  Puchkine's  death;  like  him  he 
was  also  killed  in  a  duel,  but  still  earlier  in  life, 


174  KISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

and   before   he   had  reached   the   plenitude   of  his 
powers. 

Lermontof  became  the  singer  of  the  Caucasian 
region.  At  that  time  it  was  really  a  great  favor  to 
send  a  poet  to  the  mountains,  for  there  he  came  in 
contact  with  things  that  reclaimed  and  lifted  his 
fancy,  —  air,  sun,  liberty,  a  wooded  and  majestic  land- 
scape, picturesque  and  charming  peasant-maidens, 
wild  flowers  full  of  new  and  virginal  perfume  like  the 
Haydees  and  Fior  d'Alizas  sung  of  by  our  Western 
poets.  There  they  forgot  the  deceits  of  civilization 
and  the  weariness  of  mind  that  comes  of  too  much 
reading;  there  the  brain  was  refreshed,  the  nerves 
calmed,  and  the  moral  fibre  strengthened.  Puchkine, 
Lermontof,  and  Tolstoi,  each  in  his  own  way,  have 
lauded  the  regenerative  virtue  of  the  snow-covered 
mountains.  But  Lermontof  in  particular  was  full  of 
it,  lived  in  it,  and  died  in  it,  after  his  fatal  wound  at 
the  age  of  twenty-six,  when  public  opinion  had  just 
singled  him  out  as  Puchkine's  successor.  He  had 
drunk  deeply  of  Byron's  fountain,  and  even  resembled 
Byron  in  his  discontent,  restlessness,  and  violent  pas- 
sions, which  more  than  Byron's  were  tinged  with  a 
stripe  of  malice  and  pride,  so  that  his  enemies  used 
to  say  that  to  describe  Lucifer  he  needed  only  to 
look  at  himself  in  the  glass.  There  is  an  unbridled 
freedom,  a  mocking  irony,  and  at  times  a  deep  mel- 
ancholy at  the  bottom  of  his  poetic  genius;  it  is 
inferior  to  Puchkine's  in  harmony  and  completeness, 
but  exceeds  it  in  an  almost  painful  and  thrilling  in- 
tensity ;  there  was  more  gall  in  his  soul,  and  there- 


RUSSIAN  ROMANTICISM.  175 

fore  more  of  what  has  been  called  subjectivity,  even 
amounting  to  a  fierce  egoism.  Lermontof  is  the 
high-water  mark  of  romanticism,  and  after  his  death 
it  necessarily  began  to  ebb  ;  it  had  exhausted  curses, 
fevers,  complaints,  and  spleens,  and  now  the  world 
of  literature  was  ready  for  another  form  of  art,  wider 
and  more  human,  and  that  form  was  realism. 

I  am  sorry  to  have  to  deal  in  isms,  but  the  fault  is 
not  mine ;  we  are  handling  ideas,  and  language  offers 
no  other  way.  The  transition  came  by  means  of 
satire,  which  is  exceptionally  fertile  in  Russia.  A 
genius  of  wonderful  promise  arose  in  Griboiedof,  a 
keen  observer  and  moralist,  who  deserves  to  be  men- 
tioned after  Puchkine,  if  only  for  one  comedy  which 
is  considered  the  gem  of  the  Russian  stage,  and  is 
entitled  (freely  rendered)  "  Too  Clever  by  Half."  The 
hero  is  a  misanthropic  patriot  who  sighs  for  the  good 
old  times  and  abuses  the  mania  for  foreign  education 
and  imitation.  This  shows  the  first  impulse  of  the 
nation  to  know  and  to  assert  itself  in  literature  as  in 
everything  else.  Being  prohibited  by  the  censor,  the 
play  circulated  privately  in  manuscript ;  every  line 
became  a  proverb,  and  the  people  found  their  very 
soul  reflected  in  it.  Five  years  later,  when  Puchkine 
was  returning  from  the  Caucasus,  he  met  with  a  com- 
pany of  Georgians  who  were  drawing  a  dead  body  in 
a  cart :  it  was  the  body  of  Griboiedof,  who  had  been 
assassinated  in  an  insurrection. 

Between  the  decline  of  the  romantic  period  and 
the  appearance  of  new  forms  inspired  by  a  love  of 
the  truth,  there  hovered  in  other  parts  of  Europe 


1 7 6  RISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

undefined  and  colorless  shapes,  sterile  efforts  and 
shallow  aspirations  which  never  amounted  to  any- 
thing. But  not  so  in  Russia.  Romanticism  vanished 
quickly,  for  it  was  an  aristocratic  and  artificial  condi- 
tion, without  root  and  without  fruit  conducive  to  the 
well-being  of  a  nation  which  had  as  yet  scarcely  en- 
tered on  life,  and  which  felt  itself  strong  and  eager 
for  stimulus  and  aim,  eager  to  be  heard  and  under- 
stood ;  realism  grew  up  quickly,  for  the  very  youth 
of  the  nation  demanded  it.  Russia,  which  until  then 
had  trod  with  docile  steps  upon  the  heels  of  Europe, 
was  at  last  to  take  the  lead  by  creating  the  realistic 
novel. 

She  had  not  to  do  violence  to  her  own  nature 
to  accomplish  this.  The  Russian,  little  inclined  to 
metaphysics,  unless  it  be  the  fatalist  philosophy  of 
the  Hindus,  more  quick  at  poetic  conceptions  than 
at  rational  speculations,  carries  realism  in  his  veins 
along  with  scientific  positivism ;  and  if  any  kind  of 
literature  be  spontaneous  in  Russia  it  is  the  epic,  as 
shown  now  in  fragmentary  songs  and  again  in  the 
novels.  Before  ever  they  were  popular  in  their  own 
country,  Balzac  and  Zola  were  admired  and  under- 
stood in  Russia. 

The  two  great  geniuses  of  lyric  poetry,  Puchkine 
and  Lermontof,  confirm  this  theory.  Though  both 
perished  before  the  descriptive  and  observing  facul- 
ties of  their  countrymen  were  matured,  they  had  both 
instinctively  turned  to  the  novel,  and  perhaps  the 
possible  direction  of  their  genius  was  thus  shadowed 
forth  as  by  accident.  Puchkine  seems  to  me  en- 


THE  LYRIC  POETS.  177 

dowed  with  qualities  which  would  have  made  him  a 
delightful  novel-writer.  His  heroes  are  clearly  and 
firmly  drawn  and  very  attractive ;  he  has  a  certain 
healthy  joyousness  of  tone  which  is  quite  classic,  and 
a  brightness  and  freedom  of  coloring  that  I  like ;  in 
the  short  historic  narrative  he  has  left  us  we  never 
see  the  slightest  trace  of  the  lyric  poet.  As  to 
Lermontof,  is  it  not  marvellous  that  a  man  who  died 
at  the  age  of  twenty-six  years  should  have  produced 
anything  like  a  novel?  But  he  left  a  sort  of  auto- 
biography, which  is  extremely  interesting,  entitled 
"  A  Contemporary  Hero,"  which  hero,  Petchorine 
by  name,  is  really  the  type  of  the  romantic  period, 
exacting,  egotistical,  at  war  with  himself  and  every- 
body else,  insatiable  for  love,  yet  scorning  life,  a  type 
that  we  meet  under  different  forms  in  many  lands ; 
now  swallowing  poison  like  De  Musset's  Rolla,  now 
refusing  happiness  like  Adolfo,  now  consumed  with 
remorse  like  Re"n£,  now  cocking  his  pistol  like 
Werther,  and  always  in  a  bad  humor,  and  to  tell 
the  truth  always  intolerable.  "  My  hero,"  writes 
Lermontof,  "  is  the  portrait  of  a  generation,  not  of  an 
individual."  And  he  makes  that  hero  say,  "  I  have 
a  wounded  soul,  a  fancy  unappeased,  a  heart  that 
nothing  can  ease.  Everything  becomes  less  and  less 
to  me.  I  have  accustomed  myself  to  suffering  and 
joy  alike,  and  I  have  neither  feelings  nor  impressions  ; 
everything  wearies  me."  But  there  are  many  fine 
pages  in  the  narratives  of  Lermontof  besides  these 
poetical  declamations.  Perhaps  the  novel  might 
also  have  offered  him  a  brilliant  future. 

12 


178  RISE  OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

The  sad  fate  of  the  writers  during  the  reign  of 
Nicholas  I.  is  remarkable,  when  we  consider  how 
favorable  it  was  to  art  in  other  respects.  Alexander 
Herzen  calculated  that  within  thirty  years  the  three 
most  illustrious  Russian  poets  were  assassinated  or 
killed  in  a  duel,  three  lesser  ones  died  in  exile,  two 
became  insane,  two  died  of  want,  and  one  by  the 
hand  of  the  executioner.  Alas  !  and  among  these 
dark  shadows  we  discern  one  especially  sad ;  it  is 
that  of  Nicholas  Gogol,  a  soul  crushed  by  its  own 
greatness,  a  victim  to  the  noblest  infirmity  and  the 
most  generous  mania  that  can  come  upon  a  man,  a 
martyr  to  love  of  country. 


III. 

RUSSIAN   REALISM  :    GOGOL,   ITS   FOUNDER. 

GOGOL  was  born  in  1809 ;  he  was  of  Cossack 
blood,  and  first  saw  the  light  of  this  world  amid  the 
steppes  which  he  was  afterward  to  describe  so 
vividly.  His  grandfather,  holding  the  child  upon  his 
knee,  amused  him  with  stories  of  Russian  heroes  and 
their  mighty  deeds,  not  so  very  long  past  either,  for 
only  two  generations  lay  between  Gogol  and  the 
Cossack  warriors  celebrated  in  the  bilinas.  Some- 
times a  wandering  minstrel  sang  these  for  him,  ac- 
companying himself  on  the  bandura.  In  this  school 
was  his  imagination  taught.  We  may  imagine  the 
effect  upon  ourselves  of  hearing  the  Romance  of  the 
Cid  under  such  circumstances. 


RUSSIAN  REALISM. 


179 


When  Gogol  went  to  St.  Petersburg  with  the  in- 
tention of  joining  the  ranks  of  Russian  youth  there, 
though  ostensibly  to  seek  employment,  he  carried  a 
light  purse  and  a  glowing  fancy.  He  found  that  the 
great  city  was  a  desert  more  arid  than  the  steppes, 
and  even  after  obtaining  an  office  under  the  govern- 
ment he  endured  poverty  and  loneliness  such  as  no 
one  can  describe  so  well  as  himself.  His  position 
offered  him  one  advantage  which  was  the  opportunity 
of  studying  the  bureaucratic  world,  and  of  drawing 
forth  from  amid  the  dust  of  official  papers  the 
material  for  some  of  his  own  best  pages.  On  the 
expiration  of  his  term  of  office  he  was  for  a  while 
blown  about  like  a  dry  leaf.  He  tried  the  stage  but 
his  voice  failed  him  ;  he  tried  teaching  but  found  he 
had  no  vocation  for  it.  Nor  had  he  any  aptitude  for 
scholarship.  In  the  Gymnasium  of  Niejine  his  rank 
among  the  pupils  was  only  medium  ;  German,  mathe- 
matics, Latin,  and  Greek  were  little  in  his  line ;  he 
was  an  illiterate  genius.  But  in  his  inmost  soul  dwelt 
the  conviction  that  his  destiny  held  great  things  in 
store  for  him.  In  his  struggle  with  poverty,  the 
remembrance  of  the  hours  he  had  passed  at  school 
reading  Puchkine  and  other  romantic  poets  began  to 
urge  him  to  try  his  fortune  at  literature.  One  day 
he  knocked  with  trembling  hand  at  Puchkine's  door ; 
the  great  poet  was  still  asleep,  having  spent  the  night 
in  gambling  and  dissipation,  but  on  waking,  he  re- 
ceived the  young  novice  with  a  cordial  welcome,  and 
with  his  encouragement  Gogol  published  his  first 
work,  called  "Evenings  at  the  Farm."  It  met  with 


180  RISE  OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

amazing  success ;  for  the  first  time  the  public  found 
an  author  who  could  give  them  a  true  picture  of 
Russian  life.  Puchkine  had  hit  the  mark  in  advising 
him  to  study  national  scenes  and  popular  customs ; 
and  who  knows  whether  perhaps  his  conscience  did 
not  reproach  him  with  shutting  his  own  eyes  to  his 
country  and  the  realities  she  offered  him,  and  stop- 
ping his  ears  against  the  voice  of  tradition  and  the 
charms  of  Nature  ? 

Gogol's  "  Evenings  at  the  Farm  "  is  the  echo  of 
his  own  childhood ;  in  these  pages  the  Russia  of  the 
people  lives  and  breathes  in  landscapes,  peasants, 
rustic  customs,  dialogues,  legends,  and  superstitions. 
It  is  a  bright  and  simple  work,  not  yet  marked  with 
the  pessimism  which  later  on  darkened  the  author's 
soul ;  it  has  a  strong  smell  of  the  soil ;  it  is  full  of 
dialect  and  colloquial  diminutive  and  affectionate 
terms,  with  now  and  then  a  truly  poetical  passage. 
Is  it  not  strange  that  the  intellect  of  a  nation  some- 
times wanders  aimlessly  through  foreign  lands  seeking 
from  without  what  lies  handier  at  home,  and  borrow- 
ing from  strangers  that  of  which  it  has  a  super- 
abundance already?  And  how  sweet  is  the  surprise 
one  feels  at  finding  so  beautiful  the  things  which 
were  hidden  from  our  understanding  by  their  very 
familiarity  ! 

"The  Tales  of  Mirgorod,"  which  followed  the 
"  Evenings  at  the  Farm,"  contain  one  of  the  gems  of 
Gogol's  writings,  the  story  of  "  Taras  Boulba." 
Gogol  has  the  quality  of  the  epic  poet,  though  he  is 
generally  noted  only  for  his  me^ts  as  a  novelist ;  but 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  181 

judging  from  his  greatest  works,  "  Taras  Boulba " 
and  "Dead  Souls,"  I  consider  his  epic  power  to  be 
of  the  first  class,  and  in  truth  I  hold  him  to  be,  rather 
more  than  a  modern  novelist,  a  master  poet  who  has 
substituted  for  the  lyric  poetry  brought  into  favor  by 
romanticism  the  epic  form,  which  is  much  more 
suited  to  the  Russian  spirit.  He  is  the  first  who  has 
caught  the  inspiration  of  the  bilinas,  the  hero-songs, 
the  Sclavonic  poetry  created  by  the  people.  The 
novel,  it  is  true,  is  one  manifestation  of  epic  poetry, 
and  in  a  certain  way  every  novelist  is  a  rhapsodist 
who  recites  his  canto  of  the  poem  of  modern  times ; 
but  there  are  some  descriptive,  narrative  fictions, 
which,  imbued  with  a  greater  amount  of  the  poetic 
element  united  to  a  certain  large  comprehensive 
character,  more  nearly  resemble  the  ancient  idea  of 
the  epopee ;  and  of  this  class  I  may  mention  "  Don 
Quixote,"  and  perhaps  "  Faust,"  as  examples.  By  this 
I  do  not  mean  to  place  Gogol  on  the  same  plane  as 
Goethe  and  Cervantes ;  yet  I  associate  them  in  my 
mind,  and  I  see  in  Gogol's  books  the  transition  from 
the  lyric  to  the  epic  which  is  to  result  in  the  true 
novel  that  begins  with  Turguenief. 

All  the  world  is  agreed  that  "  Taras  Boulba  "  is  a 
true  prose  poem,  modelled  in  the  Homeric  style, 
the  hero  of  which  is  a  people  that  long  preserved 
a  primitive  character  and  customs.  Gogol  declared 
that  he  merely  allowed  himself  to  reproduce  the  tales 
of  his  grandfather,  who  thus  becomes  the  witness  and 
actor  in  this  Cossack  Iliad. 

One  charming  trait  in  Gogol  is  his  love  for  the 


182  RISE  OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

past  and  his  fidelity  to  tradition  ;  they  have  as  strong 
an  attraction  for  him  certainly  as  the  seductions  of 
the  future,  and  both  are  the  outcome  of  the  two 
sublime  sentiments  which  divide  every  heart,  —  retro- 
spection and  anticipation.  Gogol,  who  is  so  skilful 
in  sketching  idyllic  scenes  of  the  tranquil  life  of 
country  proprietors,  clergy,  and  peasants,  is  no  less 
skilful  in  his  descriptions  of  the  adventurous  exist- 
ence of  the  Cossack;  sometimes  he  is  so  faithful 
to  the  simple  grandeur  of  his  grandfather's  style, 
that  though  the  action  in  "  Taras  Boulba "  takes 
place  in  recent  times,  it  seems  a  tale  of  primeval 
days. 

The  story  of  this  novel  —  I  had  almost  said  this 
poem  —  unfolds  among  the  Cossacks  of  the  Don  and 
the  Dnieper,  who  were  at  that  time  a  well-preserved 
type  of  the  ancient  warlike  Scythians  that  worshipped 
the  blood-stained  sword.  Old  Taras  Boulba  is  a 
wild  animal,  but  a  very  interesting  wild  animal;  a 
rude  and  majestic  warrior-like  figure  cast  in  Homeric 
mould.  There  is,  I  confess,  just  a  trace  of  the  leaven 
of  romanticism  in  Taras.  Not  all  in  vain  had  Gogol 
hidden  Puchkine's  works  under  his  pillow  in  school- 
days; but  the  whole  general  tone  recalls  inevitably 
the  grand  naturalism  of  Homer,  to  which  is  added 
an  Oriental  coloring,  vivid  and  tragical.  Taras 
Boulba  is  an  Ataman  of  the  Cossacks,  who  has  two 
young  sons,  his  pride  and  his  hope,  studying  at  the 
University  of  Kief.  On  a  declaration  of  war  between 
the  savage  Cossack  republic  and  Poland,  the  old 
hawk  calls  his  two  nestlings  and  commands  them  to 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  183 

exchange  the  book  for  the  sword.  One  of  the  sons, 
bewitched  by  the  charms  of  a  Polish  maiden,  de- 
serts from  the  Cossack  camp  and  fights  in  the  ranks 
of  the  enemy ;  he  at  length  falls  into  the  power  of 
his  enraged  father,  who  puts  him  to  death  in  pun- 
ishment for  his  treason.  After  dreadful  battles  and 
sieges,  starvation  and  suffering,  Taras  dies,  and 
with  him  the  glory  and  the  liberty  of  the  Cossacks. 
Such  is  the  argument  of  this  simple  story,  which 
begins  in  a  manner  not  unlike  the  Tale  of  the 
Cid.  The  two  sons  of  Taras  arrive  at  their  fa- 
ther's house,  and  the  father  begins  to  ridicule  their 
student  garb. 

"  '  Do  not  mock  at  us,  father,'  says  the  elder. 

"  '  Listen  to  the  gentleman !  And  why  should  I  not 
mock  at  you,  I  should  like  to  know  ? ' 

"  '  Because,  even  though  you  are  my  father,  I  swear 
by  the  living  God,  I  will  smite  you.' 

"  '  Hi !  hi !  What  ?  Your  father  ?  '  cries  Taras,  reced- 
ing a  step  or  two. 

"  '  Yes,  my  own  father  ;  for  I  will  take  offence  from 
nobody  at  all.' 

"'How  shall  we  fight  then,  —  with  fists?'  exclaims 
the  father  in  high  glee. 

"  '  However  you  like.' 

" '  With  fists,  then,'  answers  Taras,  squaring  off  at 
him.  '  Let  us  see  what  sort  of  fellow  you  are,  and 
what  sort  of  fists  you  have.' " 

And  so  father  and  son,  instead  of  embracing  after 
a  long  absence,  begin  to  pommel  one  another  with 
naked  fists,  in  the  ribs,  back,  and  chest,  each  advan- 
cing and  receding  in  turn. 


184  RISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

"  '  Why,  he  fights  well,'  exclaims  Taras,  stopping 
to  take  breath.  'He  is  a  hero,'  he  adds,  readjusting 
his  clothes.  '  I  had  better  not  have  put  him  to  the  proof. 
But  he  will  be  a  great  Cossack  !  Good  !  my  son,  em- 
brace me  now.' " 

This  is  like  the  delight  of  Diego  Lainez  in  the 
Spanish  Romanceros,  when  he  says,  "  Your  anger 
appeases  my  own,  and  your  indignation  gives  me 
pleasure." 

Could  Gogol  have  been  acquainted  with  the  Tale 
of  the  Cid  and  the  other  Spanish  Romanceros  ?  I  do 
not  think  it  too  audacious  to  believe  it  possible,  when 
we  know  that  this  author  was  a  delighted  reader  of 
"  Don  Quixote,"  and  really  drew  inspiration  from  it 
for  his  greatest  work.  But  let  us  return  to  "  Taras 
Boulba."  Another  admirable  passage  is  on  the  part- 
ing of  the  mother  and  sons.  The  poor  wife  of 
Taras  is  the  typical  woman  of  the  warlike  tribes, 
a  gentle  and  miserable  creature  amid  a  fierce  horde 
of  men  who  are  for  the  most  part  celibates,  —  a 
creature  once  caressed  roughly  for  a  few  moments 
by  her  harsh  husband,  and  then  abandoned,  and 
whose  love  instincts  have  concentrated  themselves 
upon  the  fruits  of  his  early  fugitive  affection.  She 
sees  again  her  beloved  sons  who  are  to  spend  but 
one  night  at  home,  —  for  at  break  of  day  the  father 
leads  them  forth  to  battle,  where  perhaps  at  the 
first  shock  some  Tartar  may  cut  off  their  heads  and 
hang  them  by  the  hair  at  his  saddle-girths.  She 
watches  them  while  they  sleep,  kept  awake  herself 
by  hope  and  fear. 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  185 

" '  Perhaps,'  she  says  to  herself, '  when  Boulba  awakes 
he  will  put  off  his  departure  one  or  two  days  ;  perhaps 
he  was  drunk,  and  did  not  think  how  soon  he  was  taking 
them  away  from  me.'  " 

But  at  dawn  her  maternal  hopes  vanish ;  the  old 
Cossack  makes  ready  to  set  off. 

"  When  the  mother  saw  her  sons  leap  to  horse,  she 
rushed  toward  the  younger,  whose  face  showed  some 
trace  of  tenderness  ;  she  grasped  the  stirrup  and  the 
saddle-girth,  and  would  not  let  go,  and  her  eyes  were 
wide  with  agony  and  despair.  Two  strong  Cossacks 
seized  her  with  firm  but  respectful  hands,  and  bore  her 
away  to  the  house.  But  scarcely  had  they  released  her 
upon  the  threshold,  when  she  sprang  out  again  quicker 
than  a  mountain-goat,  which  was  the  more  remarkable  in 
a  woman  of  her  age ;  with  superhuman  effort  she  held 
back  the  horse,  gave  her  son  a  wild,  convulsive  embrace, 
and  again  was  carried  away.  The  young  Cossacks  rode 
off  in  silence,  choking  their  tears  for  fear  of  their  father; 
and  the  father,  too,  had  a  queer  feeling  about  his  heart, 
though  he  took  care  that  it  should  not  be  noticed." 

In  another  place  I  have  translated  his  magnificent 
description  of  the  steppe,  and  I  should  like  to  quote 
the  admirable  paragraphs  on  starvation,  on  the  kill- 
ing of  Ostap  Boulba,  and  the  death  of  Taras.  As  an 
example  of  the  extreme  simplicity  with  which  Gogol 
manages  his  most  dramatic  passages  and  yet  obtains 
an  intense  and  powerful  effect,  I  will  give  the  scene 
in  which  Taras  takes  the  life  of  his  son  by  his  own 
hand,  —  a  scene  which  Prosper  Merime'e  imitated  in 
his  celebrated  sketch  of  "  Mateo  Falcone." 

Andry  comes  out  of  the  city,  which  was  attacked 
by  the  Cossacks. 


1 86  RISE  OF  THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

"  At  the  head  of  the  squadron  galloped  a  horseman, 
handsomer  and  haughtier  than  the  others.  His  black 
hair  floated  from  beneath  his  bronze  helmet;  around 
his  arm  was  bound  a  beautifully  embroidered  scarf. 
Taras  was  stupefied  on  recognizing  in  him  his  son 
Andry.  But  the  latter,  inflamed  with  the  ardor  of  com- 
bat, eager  to  merit  the  prize  which  adorned  his  arm, 
threw  himself  forward  like  a  young  hound,  the  hand- 
somest, the  fleetest,  the  strongest  of  the  pack.  .  .  . 
Old  Taras  stood  a  moment,  watching  Andry  as  he  cut 
his  way  by  blows  to  the  right  and  the  left,  laying 
the  Cossacks  about  him.  At  last  his  patience  was 
exhausted. 

" '  Do  you  strike  at  your  own  people,  you  devil's 
whelp  ?  '  he  cried. 

"Andry,  galloping  hard  away,  suddenly  felt  a  strong 
hand  pulling  at  his  bridle-rein.  He  turned  his  head 
and  saw  Taras  before  him.  He  grew  pale,  like  a 
child  caught  idling  by  his  master.  His  ardor  cooled 
as  though  it  had  never  blazed ;  he  saw  only  his  terri- 
ble father,  motionless  and  calm  before  him. 

"  '  What  are  you  doing  ?  '  exclaimed  Taras,  looking 
at  the  young  man  sharply.  Andry  could  not  reply,  and 
his  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

" '  How  now,  my  son  ?  Have  your  Polish  friends 
been  of  much  use  to  you  ? '  Andry  was  dumb  as 
before. 

" '  You  commit  felony,  you  barter  your  religion,  you 
sell  your  own  people.  .  .  .  But  wait,  wait.  .  .  .  Get 
down.'  Like  an  obedient  child  Andry  alighted  from 
his  horse,  and,  more  dead  than  alive,  stood  before  his 
father. 

" '  Stand  still.  Do  not  move.  I  gave  you  life,  I  will 
take  your  life  away,'  said  Taras  then ;  and  going  back  a 
step  he  took  the  musket  from  his  shoulder.  Andry  was 
white  as  wax.  He  seemed  to  move  his  lips  and  to  mur- 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  187 

mur  a  name.  But  it  was  not  his  country's  name,  nor 
his  mother's,  nor  his  brother's  ;  it  was  the  name  of  the 
beautiful  Polish  maiden.  Taras  fired.  As  the  wheat- 
stalk  bends  after  the  stroke  of  the  sickle,  Andry  bent 
his  head  and  fell  upon  the  grass  without  uttering  a 
word.  The  man  who  had  slain  his  son  stood  a  long 
time  contemplating  the  body,  beautiful  even  in  death. 
The  young  face,  so  lately  glowing  with  strength  and 
winsome  beauty,  was  still  wonderfully  comely,  and  his 
eyebrows,  black  and  velvety,  shaded  his  pale  features. 

"  '  What  was  lacking  to  make  him  a  true  Cossack  ? ' 
said  Boulba.  '  He  was  tall,  his  eyebrows  were  black, 
he  had  a  brave  mien,  and  his  fists  were  strong  and 
ready  to  fight.  And  he  has  perished,  perished  without 
glory,  like  a  cowardly  dog.'  " 

In  the  opinion  of  Guizot  there  is  perhaps  no 
true  epic  poem  in  the  modern  age  besides  "  Taras 
Boulba,"  in  spite  of  some  defects  in  it  and  the  temp- 
tation to  compare  it  with  Homer  to  its  disadvantage. 
But  Gogol's  glory  is  not  derived  solely  from  his 
epopee  of  the  Cossacks.  His  especial  merit,  or  at 
least  his  greatest  service  to  the  literature  of  his  coun- 
try, lies  in  his  having  been  what  neither  Lermontof 
nor  Puchkine  could  be ;  namely,  the  centre  at  which 
romanticism  and  realism  join  hands,  the  medium  of 
a  smooth  and  easy  transition  from  lyric  poetry,  more 
or  less  imported  from  abroad,  and  the  national  novel ; 
the  founder  of  the  natural  school,  which  was  the 
advance  sentinel  of  modern  art. 

This  tendency  is  first  exhibited  in  a  little  sketch 
inserted  in  the  same  volume  with  Taras  Boulba, 
and  entitled  "The  Small  Proprietors  of  Former 


1 88  RISE  OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

Times,"  also  translated  as  "  Old-fashioned  Farmers," 
or  "  Old-time  Proprietors,"  —  a  story  of  the  common- 
place, full  of  keen  observations  and  wrought  out  in 
the  methods  of  the  great  contemporary  novelists. 
About  the  year  1835,  at  the  height  of  the  romantic 
period,  Gogol  gave  up  his  official  employment  for- 
ever, exclaiming,  "  I  am  going  to  be  a  free  Cossack 
again  ;  I  will  belong  to  nobody  but  myself."  He  then 
published  a  little  volume  of  Arabesques,  —  a  collec- 
tion of  disconnected  articles,  criticisms,  and  sketches, 
chiefly  interesting  because  by  him.  His  short  stories 
of  this  period  are  the  stirrings  of  his  awakening  real- 
ism ;  and  among  them  the  one  most  worthy  of  notice 
is  "  The  Cloak,"  which  is  filled  with  a  strain  of  sym- 
pathy and  pity  for  the  poor,  the  ignorant,  the  plain, 
and  the  dull  people,  —  social  zeros,  so  different  from 
the  proud  and  aristocratic  ideal  of  romanticism,  and 
who  owe  their  title  of  citizenship  in  Russian  literature 
to  Gogol.  The  hero  of  the  story  is  an  awkward,  half- 
imbecile  little  office-clerk,  who  knows  nothing  but 
how  to  copy,  copy,  copy ;  a  martyr  to  bitter  cold  and 
poverty,  and  whose  dearest  dream  is  to  possess  a 
new  cloak,  for  which  he  saves  and  hoards  sordidly 
and  untiringly.  The  very  day  on  which  he  at  last 
fulfils  his  desire,  some  thieves  make  off  with  his 
precious  cloak.  The  police,  to  whom  he  carries  his 
complaint,  laugh  in  his  face,  and  the  poor  fellow  falls 
a  victim  to  the  deepest  melancholy,  and  dies  of  a 
broken  heart  shortly  after. 

"  And,"  says  Gogol,  "  St.  Petersburg  went  on  its  way 
without  Acacio,  son  of  Acacio,  just  exactly  as  though  it 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  189 

had  never  dreamed  of  his  existence.  This  creature  that 
nobody  cared  for,  nobody  loved,  nobody  took  any  in- 
terest in,  —  not  even  the  naturalist  who  sticks  a  pin 
through  a  common  fly  and  studies  it  attentively  under 
a  microscope,  —  this  poor  creature  disappeared,  van- 
ished, went  to  the  other  world  without  anything  in  par- 
ticular ever  having  happened  to  him  in  this.  .  .  .  But  at 
least  once  before  he  died  he  had  welcomed  that  bright 
guest,  Fortune,  whom  we  all  hope  to  see ;  to  his  eyes 
she  appeared  under  the  form  of  a  cloak.  And  then 
misfortune  fell  upon  him  as  suddenly  and  as  darkly  as 
it  ever  falls  upon  the  great  ones  of  the  earth." 

"  The  Cloak  "  and  his  celebrated  comedy,  "  The 
Inspector,"  also  translated  as  "The  Revizor,"  are  the 
result  of  his  official  experiences.  Men  who  have 
been  a  good  deal  tossed  about,  who  have  drunk  of 
life's  cup  of  bitterness,  who  have  been  bruised  by  its 
sharp  corners  and  torn  by  its  thorns,  if  they  have  an 
analytical  mind  and  a  magnanimous  heart,  human 
kindness  and  a  spark  of  genius,  become  the  great 
satirists,  great  humorists,  and  great  moralists.  "  The 
Inspector "  is  a  picture  of  Russian  public  customs 
painted  by  a  master  hand ;  it  is  a  laugh,  a  fling  of 
derision,  at  the  baseness  of  a  society  and  a  political 
regimen  under  which  bureaucracy  and  official  formal- 
ism can  descend  to  incredible  vice  and  corruption. 
It  seems  at  first  a  mere  farce,  such  as  is  common 
enough  on  the  Russian  or  any  stage ;  but  the  covert 
strength  of  the  satire  is  so  far-reaching  that  the  "  In- 
spector "  is  a  symbolical  and  cruel  work.  The  curtain 
rises  at  the  moment  when  the  officials  of  a  small 
provincial  capital  are  anxiously  awaiting  the  Inspec- 


1 90  RISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

tor,  who  is  about  to  make  them  a  visit  incognito. 
A  traveller  comes  to  the  only  hotel  or  inn  of  the 
town,  and  all  believe  him  to  be  the  dreaded  govern- 
mental attorney.  It  turns  out  that  the  traveller  who 
has  given  them  such  a  fright  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  an  insignificant  employee  from  St.  Petersburg.  — 
a  madcap  fellow,  who,  having  run  short  of  money,  is 
obliged  to  cut  his  vacation  journey  short.  When  he 
is  apprised  of  a  visit  from  the  governor,  he  thinks  he 
is  about  to  be  arrested.  What  is  his  astonishment  when 
he  finds  that,  instead  of  being  put  in  prison,  a  purse 
of  five  hundred  rubles  is  slipped  into  his  hand,  and 
he  is  conducted  with  great  ceremony  to  visit  hospitals 
and  schools.  As  soon  as  he  smells  the  quid  pro  quo 
he  adapts  himself  to  the  part,  dissimulates,  and  plays 
the  protector,  puts  on  a  majestic  and  severe  de- 
meanor, and  after  having  fooled  the  whole  town  and 
received  all  sorts  of  obsequious  attentions,  he  slips  out 
with  a  full  purse.  A  few  minutes  afterward  the  real 
Inspector  appears  and  the  curtain  falls. 

Gogol  frankly  confesses  that  in  this  comedy  he  has 
tried  to  put  together  and  crystallize  all  the  evil  that 
he  saw  in  the  administrative  affairs  of  Russia.  The 
general  impression  it  gave  was  that  of  a  satire,  as  he 
desired ;  the  nation  looked  at  itself  in  the  glass,  and 
was  ashamed.  "  In  the  midst  of  my  own  laughter, 
which  was  louder  than  ever,"  says  Gogol,  "  the 
spectator  perceived  a  note  of  sorrow  and  anger,  and 
I  myself  noticed  that  my  laugh  was  not  the  same  as 
before,  and  that  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  be  as  I 
used  to  be  in  my  works ;  the  need  to  amuse  myself 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  191 

with  innocent  fictions  was  gone  with  my  youth." 
This  is  the  sincere  confession  of  the  humorist  whose 
laughter  is  full  of  tears  and  bitterness. 

This  rough  satire  on  the  government  of  the  auto- 
crat Nicholas,  this  terrible  flagellation  of  wickedness 
in  high  places  raised  to  a  venerated  national  institu- 
tion, was  represented  before  the  court  and  applauded 
by  it,  and  the  satirical  author  of  it  was  subjected  to 
no  censor  but  the  emperor  himself,  who  read  the  play 
in  manuscript,  burst  into  roars  of  laughter  over  it,  and 
ordered  his  players  to  give  it  without  delay ;  and  on 
the  first  night  Nicholas  appeared  in  his  box,  and  his 
imperial  hands  gave  the  signal  for  applause.  The 
courtiers  could  not  do  otherwise  than  swallow  the 
pill,  but  it  left  a  bad  taste  and  a  bitter  sediment  in 
their  hearts,  which  they  treasured  up  against  Gogol 
for  the  day  of  revenge. 

On  this  occasion  the  terrible  autocrat  acted  with 
the  same  exquisite  delicacy  and  truly  royal  munifi- 
cence which  he  had  shown  toward  Puchkine.  On 
allowing  Gogol  a  pension  of  five  thousand  rubles,  he 
said  to  the  person  who  presented  the  petition,  "  Do 
not  let  your  prote'ge'  know  that  this  gift  is  from  me  ; 
he  would  feel  obliged  to  write  from  a  government 
standpoint,  and  I  do  not  wish  him  to  do  that." 
Several  times  afterward  the  Emperor  secretly  sent 
him  such  gifts  under  cover  of  his  friend  Joukowsky 
the  poet,  by  which  means  he  was  able  to  defray  his 
journeys  to  Europe. 

Without  apparent  cause  Gogol's  character  became 
soured  about  the  year  1836 ;  he  became  a  prey  to 


192  RISE  OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

hypochondria,  probably,  as  may  be  deduced  from  a 
passage  in  one  of  his  letters,  on  account  of  the  atmos- 
phere of  hostility  which  had  hung  over  him  since  the 
publication  of  "  The  Inspector."  "  Everybody  is 
against  me,"  he  says,  "  officials,  police,  merchants, 
literary  men ;  they  are  all  gnashing  and  snapping  at 
my  comedy  !  Nowadays  I  hate  it !  Nobody  knows 
what  I  suffer.  I  am  worn  out  in  body  and  soul." 
He  determined  to  leave  the  country,  and  he  after- 
ward returned  to  it  only  occasionally,  until  he  went 
back  at  last  to  languish  and  die  there.  Like  Turgue- 
nief,  and  not  without  some  truth,  he  declared  that 
he  could  see  his  country,  the  object  of  his  study, 
better  from  a  distance ;  it  is  the  law  of  the  painter, 
who  steps  away  from  his  picture  to  a  certain  distance 
in  order  to  study  it  better.  He  went  from  one  place 
to  another  in  Europe,  and  in  Rome  he  formed  a  close 
friendship  with  the  Russian  painter  Ivanof,  who  had 
retired  to  a  Capuchin  convent,  where  he  spent  twenty 
years  on  one  picture,  "  The  Apparition  of  Christ," 
and  left  it  at  last  unfinished.  Some  profess  to  believe 
that  Gogol  was  converted  to  Catholicism,  and  with 
his  friend  devoted  himself  to  a  life  of  asceticism  and 
contemplation  of  the  hereafter,  toward  which  vexed 
and  melancholy  souls  often  feel  themselves  irresistibly 
drawn. 

Gogol  felt  a  strong  desire  to  deal  with  the  truth, 
with  realities ;  he  longed  to  write  a  book  that  would 
tell  the  whole  truth,  which  should  show  Russia  as  she 
was,  and  which  should  not  be  hampered  by  influences 
that  forced  him  to  temporize,  attenuate,  and  weigh 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  193 

his  words,  —  a  book  in  which  he  might  give  free  vent 
to  his  satirical  vein,  and  put  his  faculties  of  observation 
to  consummate  use.  This  book,  which  was  to  be  a 
resume  of  life,  a  chef  d'ceuvre,  a  lasting  monument 
(the  aspiration  of  every  ambitious  soul  that  cannot 
bear  to  die  and  be  forgotten),  at  last  became  a  fixed 
idea  in  Gogol's  mind ;  it  took  complete  possession 
of  him,  gave  him  no  repose,  absorbed  his  whole  life, 
demanded  every  effort  of  his  brain,  and  finally  re- 
mained unfinished.  And  yet  what  he  accomplished 
constitutes  the  most  profoundly  human  book  that 
has  ever  been  written  in  Russia;  it  contains  the 
whole  programme  of  the  school  initiated  by  Gogol, 
and  compels  us  to  count  the  author  of  it  among  the 
descendants  of  Cervantes.  "  Don  Quixote  "  was  in 
fact  the  model  for  "  Dead  Souls,"  which  put  an  end  to 
romanticism,  as  "  Quixote  "  did  to  books  of  chivalry. 
That  none  may  say  that  this  supposition  is  dictated 
by  my  national  pride,  I  am  going  to  quote  literally 
two  paragraphs,  one  by  Gogol  himself,  the  other  by 
Melchior  de  Vogui£,  the  intelligent  French  critic 
whose  work  on  the  Russian  novel  has  been  so  useful 
to  me  in  these  studies. 

"  Puchkine,"  says  Gogol,  "  has  been  urging  me  for 
some  time  to  undertake  a  long  and  serious  work.  One 
day  he  talked  to  me  of  my  feeble  health,  of  the  frequent 
attacks  which  may  cause  my  premature  death  ;  he  men- 
tioned as  an  example  Cervantes,  the  author  of  some 
short  stories  of  excellent  quality,  but  who  would  never 
have  held  the  place  he  is  awarded  among  the  writers  of 
first  rank,  had  he  not  undertaken  his  '  Don  Quixote.' 


194  RISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

And  at  last  he  suggested  to  me  a  subject  of  his  own 
invention  on  which  he  had  thought  of  making  a  poem, 
and  said  he  would  tell  it  to  nobody  but  me.  The  sub- 
ject was  '  The  Dead  Souls.'  Puchkine  also  suggested 
to  me  the  idea  of  '  The  Inspector.'  " 

"  In  spite  of  this  frank  testimony,"  adds  Voguie", 
"  equally  honorable  to  both  friends,  I  must  continue 
to  believe  that  the  true  progenitor  of  '  Dead  Souls  '  was 
Cervantes  himself.  On  leaving  Russia  Gogol  turned 
toward  Spain,  and  studied  at  close  quarters  the  literature 
of  this  country,  especially  '  Don  Quixote,'  which  was 
always  his  favorite  book.  The  Spanish  humorist  held 
up  to  him  a  subject  marvellously  suited  to  his  plans,  the 
adventures  of  a  hero  with  a  mania  which  leads  him  into 
all  regions  of  society,  and  who  serves  as  the  pretext  to 
show  to  the  spectator  a  series  of  pictures,  a  sort  of 
human  magic-lantern.  The  near  relationship  of  these 
two  works  is  indicated  at  all  points,  —  the  cogitative, 
sardonic  spirit,  the  sadness  underlying  the  laughter,  and 
the  impossibility  of  classifying  either  under  any  definite 
literary  head.  Gogol  protested  against  the  application 
of  the  word  '  novel '  to  his  book,  and  himself  called  it 
a  poem,  dividing  it,  not  into  chapters  but  into  cantos. 
Poem  it  cannot  be  called  in  any  rigorous  sense  of  the 
term  ;  but  classify  '  Don  Quixote,'  and  Gogol's  master- 
piece will  fall  into  the  same  category." 

I  read  "  Dead  Souls "  before  reading  Vogui£'s 
criticism,  and  my  impression  coincided  exactly  with 
his.  I  said  to  myself,  "This  book  is  the  nearest 
/ike  '  Don  Quixote '  of  any  that  I  have  ever  read." 
There  are  important  differences  —  how  could  it  be 
otherwise?  —  and  even  discounting  the  loss  to  Gogol 
by  means  of  translation,  a  marked  inferiority  of  the 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  195 

Russian  to  Cervantes;  but  they  are  writers  of  the 
same  species,  and  even  at  the  distance  of  two  cen- 
turies they  bear  a  likeness  to  each  other.  And  the 
intention  to  take  "  Don  Quixote  "  as  a  model  is  evi- 
dent, even  though  Gogol  had  never  set  foot  in  Spain, 
as  some  of  his  compatriots  affirm. 

"  Dead  Souls  "  may  be  divided  into  three  parts : 
the  first,  which  was  completed  and  published  in  1842  ; 
the  second,  which  was  incomplete  and  rudimentary, 
and  cast  into  the  flames  by  the  author  in  a  fit  of 
desperation,  but  published  after  his  death  from  notes 
that  had  escaped  this  holocaust ;  and  the  third,  which 
never  took  shape  outside  the  author's  mind. 

Even  the  contrast  between  the  heroes  of  Cervantes 
and  Gogol  —  the  Ingenious  Knight  Avenger  of 
Wrongs,  and  the  clever  rascal  who  goes  from  place 
to  place  trying  to  carry  out  his  extravagant  schemes 
—  illustrates  still  more  clearly  the  Cervantesque  affil- 
iation of  the  book.  Undoubtedly  Gogol  purposely 
chose  a  contrast,  because  he  wished  to  embody  in 
the  story  the  wrath  he  felt  at  the  social  state  of  Rus- 
sia, more  lamentable  and  hateful  even  than  that  of 
Spain  in  Cervantes'  time.  No  more  profound  diatribe 
than  "  Dead  Souls  "  has  ever  been  written  in  Russia, 
though  it  is  a  country  where  satire  has  flourished 
abundantly.  Sometimes  there  is  a  ray  of  sunshine, 
and  the  poet's  tense  brows  relax  with  a  hearty  laugh. 
In  the  first  chapter  is  a  description  of  the  Russian 
inns,  drawn  with  no  less  graceful  wit  than  that  of 
the  inns  of  La  Mancha.  It  is  not  difficult  to  go  on 
with  the  parallel. 


196  RISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

In  "Dead  Souls,"  as  in  "Don  Quixote,"  the  hero's 
servants  are  important  personages,  and  so  are  their 
horses,  which  have  become  typical  under  the  names 
of  Rocinante  and  Rucio ;  the  dialogues  between  the 
coachman  Selifan  and  his  horses  remind  one  of  some 
of  the  passages  between  Sancho  and  his  donkey.  As 
in  "  Don  Quixote,"  the  infinite  variety  of  persons  and 
episodes,  the  physiognomy  of  the  places,  the  animated 
succession  of  incidents,  offer  a  panorama  of  life.  As 
in  "  Don  Quixote,"  woman  occupies  a  place  in  the 
background ;  no  important  love-affair  appears  in  the 
whole  book.  Gogol,  like  Cervantes,  shows  less  dex- 
terity in  depicting  feminine  than  masculine  types, 
except  in  the  case  of  the  grotesque,  where  he  also 
resembles  the  creator  of  Maritornes  and  Teresa  Panza. 
As  in  "  Don  Quixote,"  the  best  part  of  the  book  is 
the  beginning;  the  inspiration  slackens  toward  the 
middle,  for  the  reason,  probably,  that  in  both  the 
poetic  instinct  supersedes  the  prudent  forecasting 
of  the  idea,  and  there  is  in  both  something  of  the 
sublime  inconsistency  common  to  geniuses  and  to 
the  popular  muse.  And  in  "Don  Quixote,"  as  in 
"Dead  Souls,"  above  the  realism  of  the  subject  and 
the  vulgarity  of  many  passages  there  is  a  sort  of 
ebullient,  fantastic  life,  something  supersensual,  which 
carries  us  along  under  full  sail  into  the  bright  world 
of  imagination ;  something  which  enlivens  the  fancy, 
takes  hold  upon  the  mind,  and  charms  the  soul; 
something  which  makes  us  better,  more  humane, 
more  spiritual  in  effect. 

The  subject  of  "  Dead  Souls "  —  so  strange  as 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  197 

never  to  be  forgotten  —  gives  Gogol  a  wide  range  for 
his  pungent  satire.  Tchitchikof  —  there  's  a  name, 
indeed  !  —  an  ex-official,  having  been  caught  in  some 
nefarious  affair,  and  ruined  and  dishonored  by  the 
discovery,  conceives  a  bright  idea  as  to  regaining  his 
fortune.  He  knows  that  the  serfs,  called  in  Russia 
by  the  generic  name  of  souls,  can  be  pawned,  mort- 
gaged, and  sold ;  and  that  on  the  other  hand  the 
tax-collector  obliges  the  owners  to  pay  a  per  capita 
tax  for  each  soul.  He  remembers  also  that  the  cen- 
sus is  taken  on  the  Friday  before  Easter,  and  in  the 
mean  time  the  lists  are  not  revised,  seeing  that  natu- 
ral processes  compensate  for  losses  by  death.  But  in 
case  of  epidemic  the  owner  loses  more,  yet  continues 
to  pay  for  hands  that  no  longer  toil  for  him ;  so  it 
occurs  to  Tchitchikof  to  travel  over  the  country  buy- 
ing at  a  discount  a  number  of  dead  souls  whose  owners 
will  gladly  get  rid  of  them,  the  buyer  having  only  to 
promise  to  pay  the  taxes  thereon ;  then,  having  pro- 
vided these  dead  souls  (though  to  all  legal  intents  still 
living)  with  this  extraordinary  nominal  value,  he  will 
register  them  as  purchased,  take  the  deed  of  sale  to 
a  bank  in  St.  Petersburg,  mortgage  them  for  a  good 
round  sum,  and  with  the  money  thus  obtained,  buy 
real  live  serfs  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  by  this  clever 
trick  make  a  fortune.  No  sooner  said  than  done. 
The  hero  gives  orders  to  harness  his  britchka,  takes 
with  him  his  coachman  and  his  lackey, — two  delicious 
characters !  —  and  goes  all  over  Russia,  ingratiating 
himself  everywhere,  finding  out  all  about  the  people 
and  the  estates,  meeting  with  all  sorts  of  proprietors 


198  RISE  OP    THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

and  functionaries,  and  falling  into  many  adventures 
which,  if  not  quite  as  glorious  as  those  of  the  Knight 
of  La  Mancha,  are  scarcely  less  entertaining  to  read 
about.  And  where  is  such  another  diatribe  on  serf- 
dom as  this  lugubrious  burlesque  furnishes,  or  any 
spectacle  so  painfully  ironical  as  that  of  these  wretched 
corpses,  who  are  neither  free  nor  yet  within  the  nar- 
row liberty  of  the  tomb,  —  these  poor  bones  ridiculed 
and  trafficked  for  even  in  the  precincts  of  death  ? 

This  remarkable  book,  which  contains  a  most 
powerful  argument  against  the  inveterate  abuses  of 
slavery,  unites  to  its  value  as  a  social  and  humanita- 
rian benefactor  that  of  being  the  corner-stone  of 
Russian  realism, —  the  realism  which,  though  already 
perceptible  in  the  prose  writings  of  the  romantic 
poets,  appears  in  Gogol,  not  as  a  confused  precur- 
sory intuition,  nor  as  an  instinctive  impulsion  of  a 
national  tendency,  but  as  a  rational  literary  plan,  well 
based  and  firmly  established.  A  few  quotations  from 
"  Dead  Souls,"  and  some  passages  also  from  Gogol's 
Letters,  will  be  enough  to  prove  this. 

"  Happy  is  the  writer," 1  he  says  sarcastically,  "  who 
refrains  from  depicting  insipid,  disagreeable,  unsym- 
pathetic characters  without  any  charms  whatever,  and 
makes  a  study  of  those  more  distinguished,  refined,  and 
exquisite  ;  the  writer  who  has  a  fine  tact  in  selecting 
from  the  vast  and  muddy  stream  of  humanity,  and  de- 
voting his  attention  to  a  few  honorable  exceptions  to 

1  I  could  take  this  passage  bodily  from  the  translation  of  "  Dead 
Souls  "  made  by  Isabella  Hapgood  directly  from  the  Russian,  but 
there  are  some  discrepancies  in  which  the  Spanish  writer  seems  to  be 
in  the  right,  as  in  the  use  of  the  word  writer  for  reader.  —  TR. 


RUSSIAN  REALISM. 


I99 


the  average  human  nature ;  who  never  once  lowers  the 
clear,  high  tone  of  his  lyre;  who  never  puts  his  melo- 
dies to  the  ignoble  use  of  singing  about  folk  of  no  im- 
portance and  low  quality ;  and  who,  in  fact,  taking  care 
never  to  descend  to  the  too  commonplace  realities  of 
life,  soars  upward  bright  and  free  toward  the  ethereal 
regions  of  his  poetic  ideal !  .  .  .  He  soothes  and  flat- 
ters the  vanity  of  men,  casting  a  veil  over  whatever  is 
base,  sombre,  and  humiliating  in  human  nature.  All 
the  world  applauds  and  rejoices  as  he  passes  by  in  his 
triumphal  chariot,  and  the  multitude  proclaims  him  a 
great  poet,  a  creative  genius,  a  transcendent  soul.  At 
the  sound  of  his  name  young  hearts  beat  wildly,  and 
sweet  tears  of  admiration  shine  in  gentle  eyes.  .  .  . 
Oh,  how  different  is  the  lot  of  the  unfortunate  writer 
who  dares  to  present  in  his  works  a  faithful  picture  of 
social  realities,  exactly  as  they  appear  to  the  naked  eye  ! 
Who  bade  him  pay  attention  to  the  muddy  whirlpool  of 
small  miseries  and  humiliations,  in  which  life  is  perforce 
swallowed  up,  or  take  notice  of  the  crowd  of  vulgar,  in- 
different, bungling,  corrupt  characters,  that  swarm  like 
ants  under  our  feet  ?  If  he  commit  a  sin  so  reprehen- 
sible, let  him  not  hope  for  the  applause  of  his  country; 
let  him  not  expect  to  be  greeted  by  maidens  of  sixteen, 
with  heaving  bosom  and  bright,  enthusiastic  eyes.  .  .  . 
Nor  will  he  be  able  to  escape  the  judgment  of  his  con- 
temporaries, a  tribunal  without  delicacy  or  conscience, 
which  pronounces  the  works  it  devours  in  secret  to  be 
disgusting  and  low,  and  with  feigned  repugnance  enu- 
merates them  among  the  writings  which  are  hurtful  to 
humanity ;  a  tribunal  which  cynically  imputes  to  the 
author  the  qualities  and  conditions  of  the  hero  whom 
he  describes,  allowing  him  neither  heart  nor  soul,  and 
belittling  the  sacred  flame  of  talent  which  is  his  whole 
life. 


200  RISE  OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

"  Contemporary  judgment  is  not  yet  able  or  willing 
to  acknowledge  that  the  lens  which  discloses  the  habits 
and  movements  of  the  smallest  insect  is  worthy  the 
same  estimation  as  that  which  reaches  to  the  farthest 
limits  of  the  firmament.  It  seems  to  ignore  the  fact 
that  it  needs  a  great  soul  indeed  to  portray  sincerely 
and  accurately  the  life  that  is  stigmatized  by  public 
opinion,  to  convert  clay  into  precious  pearls  through 
the  medium  of  art.  Contemporary  judgment  finds  it 
hard  to  realize  that  frank,  good-natured  laughter  may 
be  as  full  of  merit  and  dignity  as  a  fine  outburst  of 
lyric  passion.  Contemporary  judgment  pretends  igno- 
rance, and  bestows  only  censure  and  depreciation  upon 
the  sincere  author,  —  knows  him  not,  disdains  him; 
and  so  he  is  left  wretched,  abandoned,  without  sympa- 
thy, like  the  lonely  traveller  who  has  no  companion  but 
his  own  indomitable  heart. 

"  I  understand  you,  dear  readers ;  I  know  very  well 
what  you  are  thinking  in  your  hearts ;  you  curse  the 
means  that  shows  you  palpable,  naked  human  misery, 
and  you  murmur  within  yourselves,  'What  is  the  use  of 
such  an  exhibition  ?  As  though  we  did  not  already 
know  enough  of  the  absurd  and  base  actions  that  the 
world  is  always  full  of !  These  things  are  annoying, 
and  one  sees  enough  of  them  without  having  them  set 
before  us  in  literature.  No,  no ;  show  us  the  beau- 
tiful, the  charming;  that  which  shall  lift  us  above  the 
levels  of  reality,  elevate  us,  fill  us  with  enthusiasm.' 
And  this  is  not  all.  The  author  exposes  himself  to  the 
anger  of  a  class  of  would-be  patriots,  who,  at  the  least 
indication  of  injury  to  the  country's  decorum,  at  the 
first  appearance  of  a  book  that  dwells  on  some  bitter 
truths,  raise  a  dreadful  outcry.  '  Is  it  well  that  such 
things  should  be  brought  to  light?'  they  say;  'this  de- 
scription may  apply  to  a  good  many  people  we  know ; 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  2OI 

it  might  be  you,  or  I,  or  our  friend  there.  And  what 
will  foreigners  say  ?  It  is  too  bad  to  allow  them  to 
form  so  poor  an  opinion  of  us.'  Hypocrites !  The 
motive  of  their  accusations  is  not  patriotism,  that  noble 
and  beautiful  sentiment ;  it  is  mean,  low  calculation, 
wearing  the  mask  of  patriotism.  Let  us  tear  off  the 
mask  and  tread  it  under  foot.  Let  us  call  things  by 
their  names ;  it  is  a  sacred  duty,  and  the  author  is 
under  obligation  to  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth." 

These  passages  just  quoted  are  sufficiently  explicit ; 
but  the  following,  taken  from  one  of  Gogol's  letters 
concerning  "  Dead  Souls,"  is  still  more  so. 

"  Those  who  have  analyzed  my  talents  as  a  writer 
have  not  been  able  to  discover  my  chief  quality.  Only 
Puchkine  noticed  it,  and  he  used  to  say  that  no  author 
had,  so  much  as  I,  the  gift  of  showing  the  reality  of  the 
trivialities  of  life,  of  describing  the  petty  ways  of  an 
insignificant  creature,  of  bringing  out  and  revealing  to 
my  readers  infinitesimal  details  which  would  otherwise 
pass  unnoticed.  In  fact,  there  is  where  my  talent  lies. 
The  reader  revolts  against  the  meanness  and  baseness 
of  my  heroes  ;  when  he  shuts  the  book  he  feels  as 
though  he  had  come  up  from  a  stifling  cellar  into  the 
light  of  day.  They  would  have  forgiven  me  if  I  had 
described  some  picturesque  theatrical  knave,  but  they 
cannot  forgive  my  vulgarity.  The  Russians  are  shocked 
to  see  their  own  insignificance." 

"My  friend,"  he  writes  again,  "  if  you  wish  to  do  me 
the  greatest  favor  that  I  can  expect  from  a  Christian, 
make  a  note  of  every  small  daily  act  and  fact  that  you 
may  come  across  anywhere.  What  trouble  would  it  be 
to  you  to  write  down  every  night  in  a  sort  of  diary  such 
notes  as  these,  —  To-day  I  heard  such  an  opinion  ex- 


202  RISE   OF    THE   RUSSIAN 

pressed,  I  spoke  with  such  a  person,  of  such  a  disposi- 
tion, such  a  character,  of  good  education  or  not;  he 
holds  his  hands  thus,  or  takes  his  snuff  so,  —  in  fact, 
everything  that  you  see  and  notice  from  the  greatest  to 
the  least  ?  " 

What  more  could  the  most  modern  novelist  say,  — 
the  sort  that  carries  a  memorandum-book  under  his 
arm  and  makes  sketches,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
painters  ? 

Thus  we  see  that  a  man  gifted  with  epic  genius 
became  in  1843,  before  Zola  was  dreamt  of,  and 
when  Edmond  de  Goncourt  was  scarcely  twenty,  the 
founder  of  realism,  the  first  prophet  of  the  doctrine 
not  inexactly  called  by  some  the  doctrine  of  literary 
microbes,  the  poet  of  social  atoms  whose  evolution  at 
length  overturns  empires,  changes  the  face  of  society, 
and  weaves  the  subtle  and  elaborate  woof  of  history. 
I  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  affirm  with  some  of  the  crit- 
ics that  this  light  proceeded  from  the  Orient,  and  that 
French  realism  is  an  outcome  of  distant  Russian 
influence ;  for  certainly  Balzac  had  a  large  influence 
in  his  turn  upon  his  Muscovite  admirers.  But  it  is 
undeniable  that  Gogol  did  anticipate  and  feel  the 
road  which  literature,  and  indeed  all  forms  of  art, 
were  bound  to  follow  in  the  latter  half  of  the  nine- 
teenth century. 

Certain  critics  see,  in  this  doctrine  of  literary  mi- 
crobes preached  by  Gogol  in  word  and  deed,  nothing 
less  than  an  immense  evolution,  characteristic  of  and 
appropriate  to  our  age.  It  is  the  advent  of  literary 
democracy,  which  was  perhaps  foreseen  by  the  subtle 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  203 

genius  of  those  early  novelists  who  described  the 
beggar,  the  lame,  halt,  and  blind,  thieves  and  robbers, 
and  creatures  of  the  lowest  strata  of  society ;  with  the 
difference  that  to-day,  united  to  this  spirit  of  aesthetic 
demagogy,  there  is  a  shade  of  Christian  charity,  com- 
passion, and  sympathy  for  wretchedness  and  misery 
which  sometimes  degenerates,  in  less  virile  minds 
than  Gogol's,  into  an  affected  sentimentality.  George 
Eliot,  that  great  author  and  great  advocate  of  Gogol's 
own  theories,  and  the  patroness  of  realism  of  hum- 
blest degree,  speaks  in  words  very  like  those  used  by 
the  author  of  "  Taras,"  of  the  strength  of  soul  which 
a  writer  needs  to  interest  himself  in  the  vulgar  com- 
monplaces of  life,  in  daily  realities,  and  in  the  peo- 
ple around  us  who  seem  to  have  nothing  picturesque 
or  extraordinary  about  them.  If  there  be  any  who 
could  carry  out  this  rehabilitation  of  the  miserable 
with  charity  and  tenderness,  it  would  be  the  Saxon 
and  the  Sclav  rather  than  the  refined  and  haughty 
Latin,  and  in  both  these  the  seed  scattered  by 
Gogol  has  brought  forth  fruit  abundantly.  Modern 
Russian  literature  is  filled  with  pity  and  sincere  love 
toward  the  poorer  classes ;  one  might  almost  term 
it  evangelical  unction ;  at  the  voice  of  the  poet  (I 
cannot  refuse  this  title  to  the  author  of  "  Taras  ") 
Russia's  heart  softened,  her  tears  fell,  and  her  com- 
passion, like  a  caressing  wave,  swept  over  the  toil- 
ing mujik,  the  ill-clad  government  clerk,  the  ragged, 
ignorant  beggar,  the  political  convict  in  the  grasp  of 
the  police,  and  even  the  criminal,  the  vulgar  assassin 
with  shaven  head,  mangled  shoulders,  blood-stained 


204  RISE   OP    THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

hands,  and  manacled  wrists.  And  more ;  their  pity 
extends  even  to  the  dumb  beasts,  and  the  death  of  a 
horse  mentioned  by  one  great  Russian  novelist  is 
more  touching  than  that  of  any  emperor. 

Gogol  is  the  real  ancestor  of  the  Russian  novel ; 
he  contained  the  germs  of  all  the  tendencies  devel- 
oped in  the  generation  that  came  after  him ;  in  him 
even  Turguenief  the  poet  and  artist,  Tolstoi  the  phil- 
osopher, and  Dostoiewsky  the  visionary,  found  inspi- 
ration. There  are  writers  who  seem  possessed  of  the 
exalted  privilege  of  uniting  and  accumulating  all  the 
characteristics  of  their  race  and  country ;  their  brain 
is  like  a  cave  filled  with  wonderful  stalactites  formed 
by  the  deposits  of  ages  and  events.  Gogol  is  one  of 
these.  The  peculiarities  of  the  Russian  soul,  the  melan- 
choly dreaminess,  the  satire,  the  suppressed  and  re- 
signed soul-forces,  are  all  seen  in  him  for  the  first  time. 

To  quote  from  "  Dead  Souls  "  would  be  little  satis- 
faction. One  must  read  it  to  understand  the  deep 
impression  it  made  in  Russia.  After  looking  it 
through,  Puchkine  exclaimed,  "  How  low  is  our  coun- 
try fallen  ! "  and  the  people,  much  against  their  will, 
finally  acknowledged  the  same  conviction.  After  a 
hard  fight  with  the  censors,  the  work  of  art  came  off 
at  last  victorious;  it  captured  all  classes  of  minds, 
and  became,  like  "  Don  Quixote,"  the  talk  of  every 
drawing-room,  the  joke  of  every  meeting-place,  and  a 
proverb  everywhere.  The  serfs  were  now  virtually 
set  free  by  force  of  the  opinion  created,  and  the 
whole  nation  saw  and  knew  itself  in  this  aesthetic 
revelation. 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  205 

But  the  man  who  dares  to  make  such  a  revelation 
must  pay  for  his  temerity  with  his  life.  Gogol  re- 
turned from  Rome  intent  upon  the  completion  of  the 
fatal  book ;  but  his  nerves,  which  were  almost  worn 
out,  failed  him  utterly  at  times,  his  soul  overflowed 
with  bitterness  and  gall,  and  at  last  in  a  fit  of  rage 
and  desperation  he  burned  the  manuscript  of  the 
Second  Part,  together  with  his  whole  library.  His 
darkened  mind  was  haunted  by  the  question  in 
Hamlet's  monologue,  the  problem  concerning  "that 
bourn  from  which  no  traveller  returns  ;  "  his  medita- 
tions took  a  deeply  religious  hue,  and  his  last  work, 
"  Letters  to  my  Friends,"  is  a  collection  of  edifying 
epistles,  urging  the  necessity  of  the  consideration  of 
the  hereafter.  To  these  exhortations  he  added  one 
on  Sclavophile  nationalism,  exaggerated  by  a  fanatical 
devotion ;  and  in  the  same  breath  he  heralds  the 
spirit  of  the  Gospels  and  anathematizes  the  theories 
imported  from  the  Occident,  and  declares  that  he 
has  given  up  writing  for  the  sake  of  dedicating  his 
time  to  self-introspection  and  the  service  of  his 
neighbor,  and  that  henceforth  he  recognizes  nothing 
but  his  country  and  his  God.  The  public  was  ex- 
asperated; it  was  Gogol's  fate  to  rouse  the  tiger. 
Who  ever  heard  of  a  satirist  turning  Church  father? 
It  began  to  be  whispered  that  Gogol  had  become 
a  devotee  of  mysticism ;  and  it  is  quite  true  that  on 
his  return  from  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem  he  lived 
miserably,  giving  all  he  had  to  the  poor.  He  was 
hypochondriac  and  misanthropic,  excepting  when 
with  children,  whose  innocent  ways  brought  back 


206  RISE  OP   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

traces  of  his  former  good-nature.  His  death  is  laid 
to  two  different  causes.  The  general  story  is  that 
during  the  Revolution  of  1848  he  lost  what  little 
intelligence  remained  to  him,  under  the  conviction 
that  there  was  no  remedy  for  his  country's  woes  ;  and 
at  last,  weighed  down  by  an  incurable  melancholy 
and  despair,  and  terrified  by  visions  of  universal 
destruction  and  other  tremendous  catastrophes,  he 
fell  on  his  knees  and  fasted  for  a  whole  day  before 
the  holy  pictures  that  hung  at  the  head  of  his  bed, 
and  was  found  there  dead.  Recent  writers  modify 
this  statement,  and  claim  to  know  on  good  authority 
that  Gogol  died  of  a  typhoid  fever,  which,  with  his 
chronic  infirmities,  was  a  fatal  complication.  What- 
ever may  have  been  the  illness  which  took  him  out 
of  the  world,  it  is  certain  that  the  part  of  Gogol  most 
diseased  was  his  soul,  and  his  sickness  was  a  too 
intense  love  of  country,  which  could  not  see  with 
indifferent  optimism  the  ills  of  the  present  or  the 
menace  of  the  future.  Gogol  had  no  heart-burdens 
except  the  suffering  he  endured  for  the  masses ;  he 
was  unmarried,  and  was  never  known  to  have  any 
passion  but  a  love  of  country  exaggerated  to  a 
dementia. 

It  is  a  strange  thing  that  Gogol  —  the  sincere  re- 
actionist, the  admirer  of  absolutism  and  of  autocracy, 
the  Pan-Sclavophile,  the  habitual  enemy  of  Western 
paganism  and  liberal  theories  —  should  have  been  the 
one  to  throw  Russian  letters  into  their  present  mad 
whirl,  into  the  path  of  nihilism  and  into  the  currents 
of  revolution,  —  a  course  which  he  seems  to  have 


RUSSIAN  REALISM.  207 

described  once  in  allegory,  in  one  of  the  most 
admirable  pages  of  "  Dead  Souls,"  where  he  com- 
pares Russia  to  a  troika.  I  will  quote  it,  and  so  take 
my  farewell  of  this  Russian  Cervantes  :  — 

"  Rapidity  of  motion  [in  travel]  is  like  an  unknown 
force,  a  hidden  power  which  seizes  us  and  carries  us  on 
its  wings ;  we  skim  through  the  air,  we  fly,  and  every- 
thing else  flies  too;  the  verst-stones  fly;  the  trades- 
men's carts  fly  past  on  one  side  and  the  other;  forests 
with  dark  patches  of  pines  rush  by,  and  the  noise  of 
destroying  axes  and  the  cawing  of  hungry  crows ;  the 
road  flies  by  and  is  lost  in  the  distance  where  we  can 
distinguish  neither  object  nor  form  nor  color,  unless  it 
be  a  bit  of  the  sky  or  the  moon  continually  crossed  by 
patches  of  flying  cloud.  O  troika,  troika,  bird-troika  ! 
There  is  no  need  to  ask  who  invented  thee !  Thou 
couldst  not  have  been  conceived  save  in  the  breast  of 
a  quick,  active  people,  in  the  midst  of  a  gigantic  territory 
that  covers  half  the  globe,  and  where  nobody  dares  count 
the  verst-stones  on  the  roads  for  fear  of  vertigo  !  Thou 
art  not  graceful  in  thy  form,  O  telega,  rustic  britchka, 
kibitka,  thou  carriage  for  all  roads  in  winter  or  summer ! 
No,  thou  art  not  an  object  of  art  made  to  please  the 
eye  ;  dry  wood,  a  hatchet,  a  chisel,  a  clever  arm,  —  with 
these  thou  art  set  up  ;  there  is  not  a  peasant  in  Yaroslaf 
that  knows  not  how  to  construct  thee.  Now  the  troika 
is  harnessed.  And  where  is  the  man  ?  What  man  ? 
The  driver  ?  Aha  !  it  is  this  same  peasant !  Very  well, 
let  him  put  on  his  boots  and  get  up  on  his  seat.  Did 
you  say  his  boots  ?  This  is  no  German  postilion ;  he 
needs  no  boots  nor  any  foot-gear  at  all.  All  that  he 
needs  is  mittens  for  his  hands  and  a  beard  on  his  chin  ! 
See  him  balancing  himself;  hear  him  sing.  Now  he 


20 8  RISE  OF   THE  RUSSIAN  NOVEL. 

pulls  away  like  a  whirlwind  ;  the  wheels  seem  a  smooth 
circle  from  centre  to  circumference,  and  the  tires  are 
invisible ;  the  ground  rushes  to  meet  the  clattering 
hoofs  ;  the  foot-traveller  leaps  to  one  side  with  a  cry  of 
fright,  then  stops  and  opens  his  mouth  in  astonishment ; 
but  the  vehicle  has  passed,  and  on  it  flies,  on  it  flies,  and 
far  away  a  little  whirl  of  dust  rises,  spreads  out,  divides, 
and  disappears  in  gauzy  patches,  falling  gently  upon 
the  sides  of  the  road.  It  is  all  gone;  nothing  remains 
of  it. 

"Thou  art  like  the  troika,  O  Russia,  my  beloved 
country !  Dost  thou  not  feel  thyself  carried  onward 
toward  the  unknown  like  this  impetuous  bird  which 
nobody  can  overtake  ?  The  road  is  invisible  under  thy 
feet,  the  bridges  echo  and  groan,  and  thou  leavest  every- 
thing behind  thee  in  the  distance.  Men  stop  and  gaze 
surprised  at  this  celestial  portent.  Is  it  the  lightning  ? 
Is  it  the  thunderbolt  from  heaven  itself  ?  What  causes 
this  movement  of  universal  terror?  What  mysterious 
and  incomprehensible  force  spurs  on  thy  steeds?  They 
are  Russian  steeds,  good  steeds.  Doth  the  whirlwind 
sometimes  nestle  in  their  manes  ?  The  signal  is  given : 
three  bronze  breasts  expand;  twelve  ready  feet  start 
with  simultaneous  impetus,  their  light  hoofs  scarce 
striking  the  ground ;  three  horses  are  changed  before 
our  very  eyes  into  three  parallel  lines  which  fly  like  a 
streak  through  the  tremulous  air.  The  troika  flies, 
sails,  bright  as  a  spirit  of  God.  O  Russia,  Russia ! 
whither  goest  thou?  Answer!  But  there  is  no  re- 
sponse ;  the  bell  clangs  with  a  supernatural  tone ;  the 
air,  beaten  and  lashed,  whistles  and  whirls,  and  rushes 
off  in  wide  currents ;  the  troika  cuts  them  all  on  the 
wing,  and  nations,  monarchies,  and  empires  stand  aside 
and  let  her  pass." 


ISooft  IV. 

MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 


I. 

TURGUENIEF,   POET  AND  ARTIST. 

IN  reviewing  the  development  of  the  School  of 
Realists  founded  by  Nicholas  Gogol,  I  shall  begin 
with  the  one  among  his  followers  and  descendants 
who  is  not  merely  the  first  in  chronological  order, 
but  the  most  intelligible  and  sympathetic  of  the 
Russian  novelists,  Ivan  Turguenief. 

The  name  of  Turguenief  has  long  been  well  known 
in  Russia.  In  1854,  before  the  novelist  made  his 
appearance,  Humboldt  said  to  a  member  of  this 
family,  "  The  name  you  bear  commands  the  highest 
respect  and  esteem  in  this  country."  Alexander 
Turguenief  was  a  savant,  and  the  originator  of  a  new 
style  of  historiography,  in  which  he  revealed  traces  of 
the  communicative  and  cosmopolitan  instincts  that 
distinguish  his  nephew  beyond  other  novelists  of  his 
country,  for  he  —  the  uncle  —  courted  acquaintance 
with  many  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  Europe, 
14 


210  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

among  them  Walter  Scott.  Another  member  of  the 
family,  Nicholai  Turguenief,  was  a  statesman  who 
found  himself  obliged  to  reside  in  foreign  lands  on 
account  of  political  vicissitudes ;  he  had  the  honor 
of  preceding  his  nephew  Ivan  in  the  advocacy  of 
serf-emancipation. 

Ivan  was  the  son  of  a  country  gentleman,  and  his 
real  education  began  among  the  heathery  hills  and 
in  the  company  of  indefatigable  hunters,  whose  stories, 
colored  by  the  blaze  of  the  camp-fire,  were  transcribed 
afterward  by  Ivan's  wonderful  pen.  His  intellect 
was  awakened  and  formed  in  Berlin,  where  he  ranged 
through  the  philosophies  of  Kant  and  Hegel,  and, 
as  he  expresses  it,  threw  himself  head-first  into  the 
ocean  of  German  thought  and  came  out  purified  and 
regenerated  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Is  it  not  wonder- 
ful, —  the  power  of  this  German  philosophy,  which, 
though  it  seems  but  a  chilly  and  lugubrious  labyrinth, 
gives  a  new  temper  to  a  mind  of  fine  and  artistic 
quality,  like  the  Toledo  blade  thrust  into  the  cold 
bath,  or  Achilles  after  washing  in  the  waters  of  the 
Styx?  As  scholasticism  gave  a  strange  power  to  the 
poetry  of  Dante,  so  German  metaphysics  seems  to 
give  wings  to  the  imagination  in  our  times.  Those 
artist  writers  (like  Zola,  for  example)  who  have  not 
wandered  through  this  dark  forest  seem  to  lack  a 
certain  tension  in  their  mental  vigor,  a  certain  tone 
in  their  artistic  spectrum  ! 

Russian  youth,  about  the  year  1838,  had  their 
Mecca  in  the  Faculty  of  Philosophy  at  Berlin,  of 
which  Hegel  held  one  chair ;  and  there  the  future 


TURGUENIEF,  POET  AND  ARTIST.          211 

celebrities  of  Russia  were  wont  to  meet.  On  leaving 
that  radiant  atmosphere  of  ideas  and  returning  to 
his  country  home  in  Russia,  Turguenief  was  over- 
come by  the  inevitable  melancholy  which  attacks  the 
man  who  leaves  civilization  behind  with  its  intellect- 
ual brightness  and  activity,  and  enters  a  land  where, 
according  to  the  words  of  the  hero  of  "  Virgin  Soil," 
"everything  sleeps  but  the  wine-shop."  This  feel- 
ing of  nostalgia  the  novelist  has  analyzed  with  a 
master  hand  in  the  pages  of  "The  Nobles'  Nest." * 

Hungry  for  wider  horizons  and  for  a  literary  life 
and  atmosphere,  Turguenief  went  to  St.  Petersburg. 
All  the  intellect  of  the  time  was  grouped  about 
Bielinsky,  who  was  a  rare  critic,  and  its  sentiments 
were  voiced  by  a  periodical  called  the  "  Contempo- 
rary." Bielinsky,  who  had  adopted  the  pessimist 
theory  that  Russian  art  could  never  exist  until  there 
was  political  emancipation,  was  obliged  to  acknowl- 
edge the  indisputable  worth  of  Turguenief  s  first  ef- 
forts, and  encouraged  him  to  publish  some  excellent 
sketches  in  a  collection  entitled  "  Papers  of  a  Sports- 
man." Contrary  to  Bielinsky's  prediction,  Turgue- 
niefs  success  was  the  greater  because,  with  that 
exquisite  artistic  intuition  which  he  alone  of  all  Rus- 
sian writers  possesses,  he  preached  no  moral  and 
taught  no  lesson  in  it,  which  was  the  fashion  or  rather 
the  pest  of  the  novel  in  those  days. 

Turguenief  again  went  abroad  soon  after  and  spent 
some  time  in  Paris,  where  he  finished  the  "  Diary  " 

1  This  work  is  better  known  to  American  readers  in  a 
translation  entitled  "Lisa."  — TR. 


212  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

and  wrote  "The  Nobles'  Nest."  On  his  return  to 
Russia  he  wrote  a  clever  criticism  on  the  "  Dead 
Souls,"  of  Gogol,  whom  he  ventured  to  call  a  great 
man ;  and  this  called  down  upon  his  head  the  ire  of 
the  police  and  banishment  to  his  estates,  which  pun- 
ishment was  not  reprieved  until  the  death  of  Nicholas 
and  the  war  of  the  Crimea  changed  the  aspect  of 
everything  in  Russia. 

Notwithstanding  the  unjustifiable  severity  with 
which  he  was  treated  on  this  occasion,  Turguenief 
cherished  no  grievance  or  thought  of  revenge  in 
his  heart.  It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  at- 
tractive traits  in  the  amiable  character  of  this  man, 
that  he  could  always  preserve  his  serenity  of  soul  in 
the  midst  of  the  distractions  occasioned  him  by  two 
equally  violent  parties  each  equally  determined  to 
embitter  his  life  if  he  did  not  consent  to  embrace  it. 
He  stood  in  the  gulf  that  separates  the  two  halves  of 
Russia,  yet  he  maintained  that  contemplative  and 
thoughtful  attitude  which  Victor  Hugo  ascribes  to  all 
true  thinkers  and  poets.  Urged  by  family  traditions 
and  by  the  natural  equilibrium  of  his  mind  to  give 
the  preference  (in  comparing  Russia  with  the  rest  of 
Europe)  to  Western  civilization,  he  protested,  with 
the  courage  born  of  conviction,  against  the  blind 
vanity  of  the  so-called  National  Party  of  Moscow, 
which,  while  it  demanded  the  liberation  of  the  serfs, 
was  determined  to  create  a  new  national  condition 
which  should  be  wholly  Sclavonic,  and  would  tread 
under  foot  every  vestige  of  foreign  culture.  With 
equal  vigor,  but  with  a  fine  tact  and  nothing  of 


TURGUENIEF,  POET  AND  ARTIST.          213 

effeminacy  or  aesthetic  repugnance,  he  protested  also 
against  the  vandalism  of  the  nihilists,  whose  proposi- 
tions were  set  forth  in  a  clever  caricature  in  a  satiri- 
cal paper  shortly  after  the  explosion  in  the  Winter 
Palace  at  St.  Petersburg.  It  represented  the  meeting 
of  two  nihilists  amid  a  heap  of  ruins.  One  asks, 
"  Is  everything  gone  up?  "  "  No,"  replies  the  other, 
"  the  planet  still  exists."  "  Blow  it  to  pieces,  then !  " 
exclaims  the  first.  Yet  Turguenief,  who  was  by  no 
means  what  we  should  call  a  conservative,  seeing 
that  he  lent  his  aid  to  the  emancipation  of  the 
serfs,  was  far  from  approving  the  new  revolutionary 
barbarism. 

Those  of  Turguenief  s  works  which  are  best  known 
and  most  discussed  are  consequently  those  which 
attack  the  ignominy  of  serfdom  or  the  threats  of 
revolutionary  terror.  In  the  first  category  may  be 
mentioned  "  The  Diary  of  a  Hunter "  and  most  of 
his  exquisite  short  stories ;  in  the  second,  "  Fathers 
and  Sons,"  a  view  of  speculative  nihilism,  "Virgin 
Soil,"  the  active  side  of  the  same,  and  "Smoke,"  a 
harsh  satire  on  the  exclusiveness  and  fanaticism  of 
the  Nationals,  which  cost  him  his  popularity  and 
made  him  innumerable  enemies.  I  will  speak  more 
at  length  of  each  of  these,  and  it  is  in  no  sense  a 
digression  from  Turguenief's  biography  to  do  so ;  for 
the  life  of  this  amiable  dreamer  and  delicate  poet  is 
to  be  found  in  his  books,  and  in  the  trials  which  he 
endured  on  their  account. 

The  first  lengthy  novel  of  Turguenief  is  "  Deme- 
trius Rudine,"  a  type  which  might  have  served  as  the 


214  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

model  for  Alphonse  Daudet's  "  Numa  Roumestan," 
a  study  of  one  of  those  complex  characters,  endowed 
with  great  aspirations  and  apparently  rich  faculties, 
but  who  lack  force  of  will,  and  have  no  definite  aim 
or  career  in  view.  "  The  Nobles'  Nest "  is  to  the 
rest  of  Turguenief  s  works  what  the  hour  of  .supreme 
and  tenderest  emotion  that  even  the  hardest  hearts 
must  bow  to  some  time  is  to  human  life  as  a  whole  ; 
in  none  of  his  works,  save  perhaps  in  "  Living  Relics," 
has  Turguenief  shown  more  depth  of  sentiment.  The 
latter  is  a  tear  of  compassion  crystallized  and  set  in 
gold ;  the  former  is  a  tragedy  of  happiness  held  be- 
fore the  eyes  and  then  lost  sight  of,  like  the  blue  sky 
seen  through  a  rent  in  the  clouds  and  then  covered 
over  with  a  leaden  and  interminable  veil.  The  hero 
is  a  Russian  gentleman  or  small  proprietary  noble- 
man, named  Lawretsky,  who,  deceived  and  betrayed 
by  his  wife,  returns  to  his  patrimonial  estates,  there  to 
hide  his  dejection  and  loneliness.  Amid  these  scenes 
of  honest,  simple  provincial  life  he  meets  with  a 
cousin  who  is  young,  beautiful,  and  open-hearted,  and 
who  captures  his  heart.  There  is  a  rumor  that  his 
wife  has  died,  and  a  hope  of  future  happiness  begins 
to  revive  in  him ;  but  the  aforesaid  deceased  lady 
resuscitates,  and  makes  her  appearance,  demanding 
with  hypocritical  humility  her  place  beneath  the 
conjugal  roof,  and  the  other  poor  girl  retires  to  a 
convent.  It  is  almost  a  sacrilege  to  extract  the  bare 
plot  of  the  story  in  this  way,  for  it  is  thus  made  to 
seem  a  mere  vulgar  complication,  feeble  and  color- 
less. But  the  charm  lies  in  the  manner  of  presenting 


TURGUENIEF,  POET  AND  ARTIST.          215 

this  simple  drama ;  the  novelist  seems  to  hold  a  glass 
before  our  eyes  through  which  we  see  the  palpitations 
of  these  bruised  and  suffering  hearts.  The  back- 
ground is  worthy  of  the  figures  on  it.  The  descrip- 
tion of  provincial  customs,  the  country,  and  the  last 
chapter  especially,  are  the  perfection  of  art  in  the 
way  of  novel-writing.  It  is  said  that  "  The  Nobles' 
Nest  "  produced  in  Russia  an  effect  comparable  only 
to  that  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia  "  in  France. 

Then  came  the  great  change  in  Russia :  serfdom 
was  no  more  !  and  Turguenief,  leaving  these  touch- 
ing love-stories,  threw  himself  into  the  new  turmoil, 
and  gave  himself  up  to  the  study  of  the  struggle  be- 
tween the  new  state  of  society  and  the  old,  which  re- 
sulted in  the  novel,  "  Fathers  and  Sons."  This  book 
contains  the  pictures  of  two  generations,  and  each  one, 
says  Merime'e,  shrewdly,  found  the  portrait  of  the 
other  well  drawn,  but  called  Heaven  to  witness  that 
that  of  himself  was  a  caricature ;  and  the  cry  of  the 
fathers  was  exceeded  by  that  of  the  sons,  personified 
in  the  character  of  the  positivist,  Bazarof. 

Two  old  country  gentlefolk,  a  physician  and  his 
wife,  represent  the  elder  generation,  the  society  of 
yesterday,  and  two  students  the  society  and  genera- 
tion of  to-day.  Bazarof  is  the  leader,  the  ruling 
spirit  of  the  two  latter ;  the  novelist  has  given  him  so 
much  vivacity  that  we  seem  to  hear  him,  to  see  his 
long,  withered  face,  his  broad  brows,  his  great  greenish 
eyes,  and  the  prominent  bulges  on  his  heavy  skull.  I 
have  seen  such  types  as  this  many  a  time  in  the 
streets  and  alleys  of  the  Latin  Quarter,  which  is  the 


216  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

lurking-place  of  Russian  refugees  in  Paris,  and  I  have 
said  to  myself,  "  There  goes  a  Bazarof,  exiled  and 
half  dead  with  hunger,  and  yet  perhaps  more  eager 
to  set  off  a  few  pounds  of  dynamite  under  the  Grand 
Opera-House  than  to  breakfast !  " 

Bazarof,  however,  is  not  yet  the  nihilist  who  wishes 
to  make  a  political  system  out  of  robbery  and  assassi- 
nation, and  to  defend  his  theory  in  learned  treatises  ; 
he  is  a  young  fellow  smarting  and  burning  under  the 
contemplation  of  his  country's  sad  state,  and  whom 
the  knowledge  got  by  his  studies  in  medicine,  natural 
sciences,  and  German  materialist  dogmas  has  made 
the  bitterest  and  most  intolerable  of  mortals,  throw- 
ing away  his  gifts  of  intellect  and  his  heart's  best  and 
most  generous  impulses.  By  reason  of  his  energy 
of  character  and  intellectual  force,  he  takes  the  lead 
over  his  companion  Arcadio,  an  enthusiastic  and 
unsophisticated  boy ;  and  the  novel  begins  with  the 
return  of  the  latter  to  his  father's  country-house  in 
company  with  his  adored  leader.  The  two  genera- 
tions then  find  themselves  face  to  face,  two  atheistical 
and  demagogic  young  students,  and  Arcadio's  father 
and  uncle,  conservative  and  ceremonious  old  men ; 
the  shock  is  immediate  and  terrible.  Bazarof,  with 
his  mania  for  dissecting  frogs,  his  negligent  dress,  his 
harsh  and  dogmatic  replies,  his  coarse  frankness,  and 
his  odor  of  drugs  and  cheap  tobacco,  inspires  an- 
tipathy from  the  first  moment,  and  he  is  himself  made 
more  captious  than  usual  by  the  appearance  of  the 
uncle,  Paul,  an  elegant  and  distinguished-looking 
man,  who  preserves  the  traditions  of  French  culture, 


TURGUENIEF,  POET  AND  ARTIST.         217 

dresses  with  the  utmost  care,  has  a  taste  for  all  that  is 
refined  and  poetical,  and  wears  such  finger-nails  as, 
says  Bazarof,  "would  be  worth  sending  to  the  Ex- 
position." The  contrast  is  as  lively  as  it  is  curious ; 
every  motion,  every  breath,  produces  conflict  and 
augments  the  discord.  Arcadio,  under  his  friend's 
influence,  finds  a  thousand  ways  to  annoy  his  elders ; 
he  sees  his  father  reading  a  volume  of  Puchkine,  and 
snatches  it  out  of  his  hands,  giving  him  instead  the 
ninth  edition  of  "  Force  and  Matter."  And  after  all 
the  poor  boy  really  cannot  follow  the  hard,  harsh 
ideas  of  Bazarof;  but  he  is  so  completely  under  the 
latter's  control,  and  looks  upon  him  with  so  much 
respect  and  awe,  and  stands  in  such  fear  of  his  ridi- 
cule, that  he  hides  his  most  innocent  and  natural 
sentiments  as  though  they  were  sinful,  and  dares  not 
even  confess  the  pleasure  he  feels  at  sight  of  the 
country  and  his  native  village. 

"  What  sort  of  fellow  is  your  friend  Bazarof? " 
Arcadio's  father  and  uncle  inquire  of  him. 

"  He  is  a  nihilist,"  is  the  response. 

"  That  word  must  come  from  the  Latin  nihil" 
says  the  father,  "  and  must  mean  a  man  that  ac- 
knowledges and  respects  nothing." 

"  It  means  a  man  who  looks  at  everything  from  a 
critical  point  of  view,"  says  Arcadio,  proudly. 

Criticism,  pitiless  analysis,  barren  and  overwhelm- 
ing, —  this  is  an  epitome  of  Bazarof,  the  spirit  of 
absolute  negation,  the  contemporary  Mephistopheles 
who  begins  by  taking  himself  off  to  the  Inferno. 

The   punishment  falls  in  the  right  place.    Con- 


2l8  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

sistently  with  his  physiological  theories,  Bazarof 
denies  the  existence  of  love,  calls  it  a  mere  natural 
instinct,  and  women  females ;  but  scarcely  does  he 
find  himself  in  contact  with  a  beautiful,  interesting, 
clever  woman  —  somewhat  of  a  coquette  too,  per- 
haps —  than  he  falls  into  her  net  like  a  clumsy  idea- 
logue  that  he  is,  and  suffers  and  curses  his  fate  like 
the  most  ardent  romanticist.  Quite  as  curious  as  the 
antithesis  of  the  two  generations  in  the  house  of 
Arcadio's  aristocratic  father,  is  the  contrast  shown  in 
that  of  the  more  humble  village  physician,  the  father 
of  Bazarof,  who  is  an  altogether  pathetic  personage. 
He,  too,  is  possessed  of  a  certain  pedantic  and  an- 
tiquated culture,  and  an  excellent,  kind  heart;  he 
adores  his  son,  thinks  him  a  demi-god,  and  yet  can- 
not by  any  means  understand  him.  Arcadio's  father, 
on  hearing  an  exposition  of  the  new  theories,  shrugs 
his  shoulders  and  exclaims,  "You  turn  everything 
inside  out  nowadays.  God  give  you  health  and  a 
general's  position  ! "  The  physician,  quite  non- 
plussed, murmurs  sadly,  "  I  confess  that  I  idolize  my 
son,  but  I  dare  not  tell  him  so,  for  he  would  be  dis- 
pleased ;  "  and  he  adds  with  ridiculous  pathos,  "  What 
comforts  me  most  is  to  think  that  some  day  men 
will  read  in  the  biography  of  my  son  these  lines  :  '  He 
was  the  son  of  an  obscure  regiment  physician  who 
nevertheless  had  the  wisdom  to  discern  his  talents 
from  the  first,  and  spared  no  pains  to  give  him  an 
excellent  education.'  Here  the  voice  of  the  old 
man  died  away,"  says  the  writer.  Such  details  be- 
speak the  great  poet.  Again  when  Bazarof  is  seized 


TURGUENIEF,  POET  AND  ARTIST.          219 

with  typhus  fever  and  dies,  it  is  not  his  fate  which 
affects  us,  but  the  grief  of  his  old  father  and  mother, 
who  believe  that  one  light  of  their  country  has  been 
put  out,  and  that  they  have  lost  the  best  treasure  of 
their  uncontaminated  and  tender  old  hearts.  The 
death  of  this  atheist  makes  an  admirable  page.  When, 
as  he  is  losing  consciousness,  extreme  unction  is 
administered  to  him,  the  shudder  of  horror  that 
passes  over  his  face  at  sight  of  the  priest  in  his  robes, 
the  smoking  incense,  the  candles  burning  before  the 
images,  is  communicated  to  our  own  souls. 

From  1860  Turguenief  remained  in  France,  bound 
by  ties  that  shaped  his  course  of  life.  He  enjoyed 
there  a  reputation  not  inferior  to  that  which  he 
possessed  in  his  own  country ;  his  works  were  all 
translated,  and  his  soul  was  soothed  by  an  almost 
fraternal  intimacy  with  the  greatest  French  writers, 
notably  Gustave  Flaubert  and  George  Sand ;  and  yet 
his  thoughts  were  never  absent  from  his  far-away 
fatherland,  and  as  a  reproof  to  his  fruitless  longings 
he  wrote  "  Smoke,"  which  put  the  capital  of  Russia 
almost  in  revolt.  But  Turguenief  was  no  bilious 
satirist  after  the  style  of  Gogol,  much  less  a  habitual 
vilifier  of  existing  classes  and  institutions  like  Tche- 
drine ;  on  the  contrary,  he  had  a  keen  observation 
like  Alphonse  Daudet,  and  the  sweeping  artist-glance 
which  takes  in  the  moral  weaknesses  as  well  as 
physical  deformities.  The  scene  of  "  Smoke  "  is 
laid  in  Baden-Baden,  the  resort  of  rich  people  who 
go  there  to  enjoy  themselves,  to  gossip,  to  intrigue, 
and  to  throw  themselves  aimlessly  into  the  mael- 


220  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

strom  of  frivolous  and  idle  life.  The  Russian  world 
passes  rapidly  before  our  eyes,  and  last  of  all  the 
hero,  weary  and  blase,  who  with  bitter  words  com- 
pares his  country  to  the  thin,  feathery  smoke  that 
rises  in  the  distance.  Everything  in  Russia  is  smoke, 
—  smoke,  and  nothing  more  ! 

Turguenief  was  one  of  those  who  loved  his  country 
well  enough  to  tell  her  the  truth,  and  to  warn  her  — 
in  an  indirect  and  artistic  manner,  of  course  —  per- 
sistently and  incessantly.  His  was  the  jealous  love 
of  the  master  for  the  favorite  pupil,  of  the  confessor 
for  the  soul  under  his  guidance,  of  the  ardent  patriot 
for  his  too  backward  and  unambitious  nation.  Tur- 
guenief compared  himself,  away  from  his  country,  to  a 
dead  fish  kept  sound  in  the  snow,  but  spoiling  in  time 
of  thaw.  He  said  that  in  a  strange  land  one  lives 
isolated,  without  any  real  props  or  profound  relation 
to  anything  whatever,  and  that  he  felt  his  own  creative 
faculties  decay  for  lack  of  inspiration  from  his  native 
air;  he  complained  of  feeling  the  chill  of  old  age 
upon  him,  and  an  incurable  vacuity  of  soul.  While 
he  thus  pined  with  homesickness,  in  Russia  his  books 
wrought  a  wholesome  change  in  criticism ;  the  new 
generation  turned  its  back  upon  him,  and  after  a 
general  scandal  followed  an  oblivious  silence,  of  the 
two  perhaps  the  harder  to  bear. 

In  1876  the  novel  "Virgin  Soil"  appeared,  first  in 
French  in  the  columns  of  "  Le  Temps,"  and  then  in 
Russian.  It  dealt  with  the  same  ideas  as  "  Fathers 
and  Sons,"  save  that  the  nihilism  described  in  it  was 
of  the  active  rather  than  the  speculative  sort.  It  was 


TURGUENIEP,  POET  AND  ARTIST.         221 

said  at  the  time  that  as  Turguenief  had  been  fifteen 
years  away  from  his  own  country,  he  was  not  capable 
of  seeing  the  nihilist  world  in  its  true  aspect,  a  thing 
to  be  felt  rather  than  seen,  difficult  enough  to  de- 
scribe near  at  hand,  and  much  more  difficult  at  a 
distance ;  but  one  must  not  expect  of  the  novelist 
what  would  be  impossible  even  to  the  political 
student.  To  us  who  are  not  too  learned  in  revolu- 
tionary mysteries,  Turguenief  s  novel  is  delightful.  I 
believe  that  there  is  more  or  less  of  political  warmth 
in  the  judgments  expressed  upon  this  "  Virgin  Soil," 
and  that  if  the  book  errs  in  any  particular,  it  is  on 
the  side  of  the  truthfulness  of  its  representative  and 
symbolic  qualities.  Otherwise,  how  explain  the  fact 
that  certain  nihilists  thought  themselves  personally 
portrayed  in  the  character  of  the  hero,  or  that  Tur- 
guenief was  accused  of  having  received  notices  and 
information  provided  by  the  police  ?  Yet  it  seems  to 
me  that  this  book,  which  gave  such  offence  to  the 
nihilists,  shows  a  lively  sympathy  with  them.  All  the 
revolutionary  characters  are  grand,  interesting,  sin- 
cere, and  poetic;  on  the  other  hand,  the  official 
world  is  made  up  of  egoists,  hypocrites,  knaves,  and 
fools.  In  reality,  "  Virgin  Soil,"  like  all  the  other 
writings  of  Turguenief,  is  the  product  of  a  gentle  and 
serene  mind,  independent  of  political  bias,  although 
both  his  artistic  and  his  Sclavonic  nature  weigh  the 
balance  in  favor  of  the  visionaries  who  represent  the 
spirit  rather  than  the  letter. 

"  Virgin  Soil  "  was  the  last  of  Turguenief  s  long 
novels.     Another  Russian  novelist,  Isaac  Paulowsky, 


222  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

who  knew  him  intimately,  has  given  us  some  curious 
information  concerning  one  he  had  in  project,  and 
which  he  believed  would  be  found  among  his  papers  ; 
but  it  has  not  yet  come  to  light,  and  there  remains 
only  to  speak  of  his  short  stories.  Perhaps  his  best 
claim  to  reputation  and  glory  rests  upon  these  ad- 
mirable sketches ;  and  it  is  Zola's  opinion  that  Tur- 
guenief  depreciated  and  wasted  his  proper  talent  when 
he  left  off  making  these  fine  cameo-like  studies. 
Perhaps  this  is  true,  as  it  is  certainly  undeniable  that 
Turguenief  had  a  master  touch  in  delicate  work  of 
this  sort,  and  it  suited  his  intensity  of  sentiment,  his 
graceful  style,  and  his  skill  in  shading,  which  dis- 
tinguish him  above  his  contemporaries.  Of  his  short 
stories,  his  episodes  of  Russian  life,  I  know  not  which 
to  select;  they  are  filigree  and  jewels,  wrought  by 
the  Benvenuto  of  his  trade ;  brass  is  gold  in  his 
hands,  and  his  chisel  excels  at  every  point.  But  I 
must  mention  a  few  of  the  most  important. 

"  The  Knight  of  the  Steppes,"  in  which  the  horse 
tells  the  story  of  the  love  and  disappointment  which 
leads  his  master  to  despair  and  suicide,  is  one  of  my 
favorites.  The  hero  resembles  Taras  Bulba,  per- 
haps, in  his  savage  grandeur;  he  is  a  remnant  of 
Asiatic  times,  brave,  proud,  generous,  uncultured; 
ruined,  thirsting  for  battle,  and  perhaps  for  pillage, 
bloodshed,  and  violence. 

Beside  this  I  would  put  the  first  one  in  the  col- 
lection translated  and  published  under  the  title  of 
"  Strange  Stories."  It  is  a  sketch  of  mysticism  and 
religious  mania  peculiar,  though  not  too  common,  to 


TURGUENIEF,  POET  AND  ARTIST.          223 

the  Russian  temperament.  Sophia,  a  young  girl  at 
a  ball,  while  dancing  the  mazurka  with  a  stranger, 
speaks  to  him  seriously  concerning  miracles,  ghosts, 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  theory  of 
Quietism,  and  manifests  a  wish  to  mortify  and  subdue 
her  nature  and  taste  martyrdom  ;  next  day  she  carries 
out  her  desires  by  running  away,  —  not  with  her  part- 
ner in  the  dance,  but  with  a  demented  fanatic,  a  man 
of  the  lowest  condition,  with  whom  she  lives  in 
chastity,  and  to  whose  infirmities  she  ministers  like  a 
mother,  and  serves  him  like  a  slave.  Such  a  picture 
could  only  have  been  conceived  in  a  land  that 
cradled  the  heroine  of  "  The  Threshold,"  and  many 
another  enthusiastic  nihilist  girl  who  was  ready  to 
lay  down  her  life  for  her  ideals. 

The  whole  volume  of  "  Strange  Stories  "  fascinates 
us  with  a  superstitious  horror.  Elias  Teglevo,  the 
hero  of  one  of  the  best  of  these  tales,  although  a 
pronounced  sceptic,  yet  believes  in  the  influence  of 
his  star,  thinks  he  is  predestined  to  a  tragic  death, 
and  under  this  persuasion  works  himself  into  a  state 
of  mind  and  body  that  becomes  a  hallucination  strong 
enough  to  lead  to  suicide,  in  obedience  to  what  he 
considers  a  supernatural  mandate.  In  another  tale, 
"  King  Lear  of  the  Steppes,"  the  gigantic  Karlof  has 
a  presentiment  of  his  death  on  seeing  a  black  colt 
in  his  dreams.  The  great  artist  reproduced  the  souls 
of  his  characters  with  laudable  fidelity.  If  super- 
natural terror  is  a  real  and  genuine  sentiment,  the 
novel  should  not  overlook  it  in  its  delineations  of 
the  truth. 


224  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

But  perhaps  the  jewel  of  Turguenief 's  narratives  is 
that  entitled  "Living  Relics."  In  this  simple  story 
he  excels  himself.  The  novel  has  no  plot,  and  is 
nothing  more  than  a  silver  lake  which  reflects  a 
beautiful  soul,  calm  and  clear  as  the  moon ;  and  the 
crippled  form  of  Lukeria  is  only  the  pretext  for  the 
detention  of  such  a  soul  in  this  world.  Who  has 
not  sometimes  entered  a  convent  church  on  leaving 
a  ball-room,  —  in  the  early  morning  hours  of  Ash- 
Wednesday,  for  instance?  The  ears  still  echo  the 
voluptuous  and  stirring  sounds  of  the  military  band ; 
one  is  ready  to  drop  with  fatigue,  dizziness,  glare  of 
lights,  and  the  unseasonable  hour.  But  the  church 
is  dark  and  empty ;  the  nuns  in  the  choir  are  chant- 
ing the  psalms ;  above  the  altar  flickers  a  dim  light, 
by  whose  aid  one  discerns  a  picture  or  a  statue, 
though  at  a  distance  one  cannot  make  out  details  of 
face  or  figure,  only  an  expression  of  vague  sweetness 
and  mysterious  peace.  After  a  moment's  contempla- 
tion of  it,  the  body  forgets  its  weariness  and  the  soul 
is  rocked  in  tranquillity.  Read  some  novel  of  the 
world's  life,  and  then  read  "  Living  Relics  "  :  it  is  like 
going  from  the  ball-room  to  the  chapel  of  a  convent. 

This  faculty  of  putting  the  reader  in  contact  with 
the  invisible  world  is  not  the  talent  of  Turguenief 
exclusively,  for  all  the  great  Russian  novelists  possess 
it  in  some  degree ;  but  Turguenief  uses  it  with  such 
exquisite  tact  and  poetic  charm  that  he  seems  to  look 
serenely  upon  the  strange  psychical  phenomenon  he 
has  produced  in  the  soul  of  the  reader,  who  is  roused 
to  a  state  of  excitement  that  reflects  the  vision  evoked 


TURGUENIEF,  POET  AND  ARTIST.         22$ 

by  the  artist's  words.  Other  instances  of  his  power 
in  this  direction  are  "The  Dog,"  "Apparitions," 
and  "Clara  Militch,"  a  confession  from  beyond  the 
tomb. 

The  last  page  written  by  Turguenief  bore  the  title 
of  "  Despair,"  —  the  voice  of  the  Russian  soul  whose 
depths  he  had  searched  for  forty  years,  says  Voguie. 
He  was  then  laboring  under  an  incurable  disease, 
cancer  of  the  brain,  which,  after  causing  him  horri- 
ble sufferings,  ended  his  life.  But  though  worn-out, 
dying,  and  stupefied  by  doses  of  opium  and  injections 
of  morphine,  his  artistic  faculties  died  hard ;  and  he 
related  his  dreams  and  hallucinations  with  wonderful 
vividness,  only  regretting  his  lack  of  strength  to  put 
them  on  paper.  It  is  said  that  some  of  these  feverish 
visions  are  preserved  in  his  "  Prose  Poems,"  which 
are  examples  of  the  adaptability  of  Turguenief 's  talent 
to  miniature,  condensed,  bird's-eye  pictures.  Like 
Meissonier,  Turguenief  saw  the  light  upon  small  sur- 
faces, enhanced  rather  than  lessened  in  brilliancy.  I 
will  translate  one  of  these  prose-poems,  so  that  the 
reader  may  see  how  Turguenief  cuts  his  medallions. 
This  one  is  entitled  "  Macha  "  :  — 

"  When  I  was  living  in  St.  Petersburg,  some  time  ago, 
I  was  in  the  habit  of  entering  into  conversation  with  the 
sleigh-driver,  whenever  I  hired  one. 

"  I  particularly  liked  to  chat  with  those  who  were 
engaged  at  night,  —  poor  peasants  from  the  surround- 
ing country,  who  came  to  town  with  their  old-fashioned 
rattling  vehicles,  besmeared  with  yellow  mud  and  drawn 
by  one  poor  horse,  to  earn  enough  for  bread  and  taxes. 
'5 


226  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

"  On  a  certain  day  I  called  one  of  these  to  me.  He 
was  a  lad  of  perhaps  twenty  years,  strong  and  robust- 
looking,  with  blue  eyes  and  red  cheeks.  Ringlets  of 
reddish  hair  escaped  from  under  his  patched  cap,  which 
was  pressed  down  over  his  eyebrows,  and  a  torn  caftan, 
too  small  for  him,  barely  covered  his  broad  shoulders. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that  this  handsome,  beardless  young 
driver's  face  was  sad  and  gloomy ;  we  fell  to  chatting, 
and  I  noticed  that  his  voice  had  a  sorrowful  tone. 

"'Why  so  sad,  brother?'  I  asked.  'Are  you  in 
trouble  ? ' 

"  At  first  he  did  not  reply. 

" '  Yes,  barino,  I  am  in  trouble,'  he  said  at  last,  — 
'  a  trouble  so  great  that  there  is  no  other  like  it,  —  my 
wife  is  dead.' 

" '  By  this  I  judge  that  you  were  very  fond  of  her.' 

"  The  lad,  without  turning,  nodded  his  head. 

" '  Barino,  I  loved  her.  It  is  now  eight  months,  and 
I  cannot  get  my  thoughts  away  from  her.  There  is 
something  gnawing  here  at  my  heart  continually.  I 
do  not  understand  why  she  died ;  she  was  young  and 
healthy.  In  twenty-four  hours  she  was  carried  off  by 
the  cholera.' 

" '  And  was  she  good  ? ' 

'"Ah,  barino!'  the  poor  fellow  sighed  deeply,  'we 
were  such  good  friends !  And  she  died  while  I  was 
away.  As  soon  as  I  heard  up  here  that  —  that  they  had 
buried  her  —  that  very  moment  I  started  on  foot  to  my 
village,  to  my  home.  I  arrived;  it  was  past  midnight. 
I  entered  my  isba;  I  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  it,  and 
called  very  low,  "  Macha,  oh  Macha  !  "  No  answer,  — 
nothing  but  the  chirp  of  a  cricket  in  a  corner.  Then  I 
burst  into  tears ;  I  sat  down  on  the  ground  and  beat  it 
with  my  hand,  saying,  "  O  thou  greedy  earth,  thou  hast 


TURGUENIEF,  POET  AND  ARTIST.         227 

swallowed  her  !  thou  must  swallow  me  too  !  Macha,  oh 
Macha !  "  I  repeated  hoarsely.' 

"Without  loosening  his  hold  on  the  reins,  he  caught 
a  falling  tear  on  his  leather  glove,  shook  it  off  at  one 
side,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  not  another 
word. 

"  On  alighting  from  the  sleigh  I  gave  him  a  good  fee ; 
he  bowed  himself  to  the  ground  before  me,  taking  off 
his  cap  with  both  hands,  turned  again  to  his  sleigh, 
and  started  off  at  a  weary  trot  down  the  frozen  and  de- 
serted street,  which  was  fast  filling  with  a  cold,  gray, 
January  fog." 

Is  it  a  mistake  to  say  that  in  this  commonplace 
little  episode  there  is  more  of  poetry  than  in  many 
elegies  and  innumerable  sonnets?  I  believe  there  is 
no  Spanish  or  French  writer  who  would  know  how 
to  gather  up  and  thread  like  a  pearl  the  tear  of  a 
common  coachman.  There  is  something  in  the  Latin 
character  that  makes  us  hard  toward  the  lower  classes 
and  the  vulgar  professions. 

Like  many  another  author,  Turguenief  was  not  a 
good  judge  of  his  own  merits,  and  gave  great  impor- 
tance to  his  longer  novels  in  preference  to  his  admi- 
rable shorter  ones,  in  which  he  scarcely  has  a  rival. 
He  had  great  expectations  of  "Smoke,"  and  the 
dislike  it  met  with  in  Russia  surprised  him  painfully. 
So  keen  was  his  disappointment  that  he  determined 
to  write  no  more  original  novels,  but  devote  him- 
self to  his  early  cherished  plan  of  translating  "  Don 
Quixote."  He  also  suffered  in  one  way  like  most 
souls  who  hang  upon  the  lips  of  public  opinion, — 
the  slightest  censure  hurt  him  like  a  mortal  wound. 


228  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

The  cordial  and  enthusiastic  reception  which,  in  spite 
of  past  indignation,  he  was  accorded  in  Russia  in 
1878,  and  the  homage  and  attentions  of  the  students 
of  Moscow,  renewed  his  courage  and  reanimated  his 
soul.  .  .  .  But  his  strong  constitution  failed  him  at 
last,  and  his  physical  and  mental  abilities  weakened. 
"  The  saddest  thing  that  has  happened  to  me,"  he 
said  to  Paulowsky,  "  is  that  I  take  no  more  pleasure 
in  my  work.  I  used  to  love  literary  labor,  as  one 
loves  to  caress  a  woman ;  now  I  detest  it.  I  have 
many  plans  in  my  head,  but  I  can  do  nothing  at  all 
with  them."  But  after  all,  what  posthumous  work  of 
Turguenief  would  bear  with  a  deeper  meaning  on  his 
literary  life  than  the  admirable  words  of  his  letter  to 
Count  Leon  Tolstoi' :  — 

"  It  is  time  I  wrote  you ;  for,  be  it  said  without  the 
least  exaggeration,  I  have  been,  I  am,  on  my  death-bed. 
I  have  no  false  hopes.  I  know  there  is  no  cure.  Let 
this  serve  to  tell  you  that  I  rejoice  to  have  been  your 
contemporary,  and  to  make  of  you  one  supreme  last  re- 
quest to  which  you  must  not  turn  a  deaf  ear.  Go  back, 
dear  friend,  to  your  literary  work.  The  gift  you  have  is 
from  above,  whence  comes  every  good  gift  we  possess. 
How  happy  I  should  be  if  I  could  believe  that  my 
entreaty  would  have  the  effect  I  desire ! 

"  As  for  myself,  I  am  a  drowning  man.  The  physi- 
cians have  not  come  to  any  conclusion  about  my  disease. 
They  say  it  may  be  gouty  neuralgia  of  the  stomach.  I 
cannot  walk,  nor  eat,  nor  sleep;  but  it  would  be  tire- 
some to  enter  into  details.  My  friend,  great  and  beloved 
writer  in  Russian  lands,  hear  my  prayer.  With  these 
few  lines  receive  a  warm  embrace  for  yourself,  your 


TURGUENIEP,  POET  AND  ARTIST.         229 

wife,  and  all  your  family.     I  can  write  no  more.     I  am 
tired." 

This  pathetic  document  contains  the  essence  of 
the  writer's  life,  the  synthesis  of  a  soul  that  loved  art 
above  all  things  else,  and  believed  that  of  the  three 
divine  attributes,  truth,  goodness,  and  beauty,  the 
last  is  the  one  especially  revealed  to  the  artist,  and 
the  one  it  is  his  especial  duty  to  show  forth;  and 
that  he  who  allows  his  sacred  flame  to  go  out,  com- 
mits a  sin  which  is  great  in  proportion  to  his  talents, 
and  a  sin  incalculable  when  commensurate  with  the 
genius  of  Tolsto'i. 

Turguenief  is  the  supreme  type  of  the  artist,  for 
he  had  the  tranquillity  and  equipoise  of  soul,  the 
bright  serenity,  and  the  sesthetic  sensibility  which 
should  distinguish  it.  According  to  able  critics,  such 
as  Taine,  Turguenief  was  one  of  the  most  artistic 
natures  that  has  been  born  among  men  since  classic 
times.  Those  who  can  read  his  works  in  the  Russian 
sing  marvellous  praises  of  his  style,  and  even  through 
the  haze  of  translation  we  are  caught  by  its  charms. 
Let  me  quote  some  lines  of  Melchior  de  Voguie  : 

"  Turguenief's  periods  flow  on  with  a  voluptuous  lan- 
guor, like  the  broad  expanse  of  the  Russian  rivers 
beneath  the  shadows  of  the  trees  athwart  them,  slipping 
melodiously  between  the  reeds  and  rushes,  laden  with 
floating  blossoms  and  fallen  bird's-nests,  perfumed  by 
wandering  odors,  reflecting  sky  and  landscape,  or  sud- 
denly darkened  by  a  lowering  cloud.  It  catches  all,  and 
gives  each  a  place;  and  its  melody  is  blended  with  the 
hum  of  bees,  the  cawing  of  the  crows,  and  the  sighing 


230 


MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 


of  the  breeze.  The  most  fugitive  sounds  of  Nature's 
great  organ  he  can  echo  in  the  infinite  variety  of  the 
tones  of  the  Russian  speech,  —  flexible  and  comprehen- 
sive epithets,  words  strung  together  to  please  a  poet's 
fancy,  and  bold  popular  sallies." 

Such  is  the  effect  produced  by  a  thorough  reading 
of  Turguenief 's  works ;  it  is  a  symphony,  a  sweet  and 
solemn  music  like  the  sounds  of  the  forest.  Tur- 
guenief is,  without  exaggeration,  the  best  word-painter 
of  landscape  that  ever  wrote.  His  descriptions  are 
neither  very  long  nor  very  highly  colored  ;  there  is  a 
charming  sobriety  about  them  that  reminds  one  of 
the  saving  strokes  with  which  the  skilful  painter  puts 
life  into  his  trees  and  skies  without  stopping  over  the 
careful  delineation  of  leaf  and  cloud  after  the  manner 
of  the  Japanese.  The  details  are  not  visible,  but  felt. 
He  rarely  lays  stress  on  minor  points ;  but  if  he  does 
so,  it  is  with  the  same  sense  of  congruity  that  a  great 
composer  reiterates  a  motive  in  music.  Turguenief's 
enemies  make  ground  of  this  very  dexterity,  which  is 
displayed  in  all  his  works,  for  denying  him  originality, 
—  as  though  originality  must  need  be  independent 
of  the  eternal  laws  of  proportion  and  harmony  which 
are  the  natural  measures  of  beauty. 

Ernest  Renan  pronounced  quite  another  opinion, 
however,  when,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
French,  he  delivered  a  discourse  over  the  tomb  that 
was  about  to  receive  the  mortal  remains  of  Tur- 
guenief, on  the  ist  of  October,  1883.  He  said  that 
Turguenief  was  not  the  conscience  of  one  individual, 
but  in  a  certain  sense  that  of  a  whole  people, — the 


TURGUENIEF,  POET  AND  ARTIST.         231 

incarnation  of  a  race,  the  voice  of  past  generations 
that  slept  the  sleep  of  ages  until  he  evoked  them. 
For  the  multitude  is  silent,  and  the  poet  or  the  prophet 
must  serve  as  its  interpreter;  and  Turguenief  holds 
this  attitude  to  the  great  Sclavonic  race,  whose  en- 
trance upon  the  world's  stage  is  the  most  astounding 
event  of  our  century.  Divided  by  its  own  magnitude, 
the  Sclav  race  is  united  in  the  great  soul  and  the 
conciliatory  spirit  of  Turguenief,  Genius  having  ac- 
complished in  a  day  that  which  Time  could  not  do 
in  ages.  He  has  created  an  atmosphere  of  beautiful 
peace,  wherein  those  who  fought  as  mortal  enemies 
may  meet  and  clasp  each  other  by  the  hand. 

It  was  just  this  impartiality  and  universality,  which 
Renan  praises  so  highly,  that  alienated  from  Tur- 
guenief many  of  his  contemporaries  and  compatriots. 
Where  ideas  are  at  war,  whoever  takes  a  neutral  posi- 
tion makes  himself  the  enemy  to  both  parties.  Tur- 
guenief knew  this,  and  he  used  sometimes  to  say,  on 
hearing  the  bitter  judgments  passed  upon  him,  "  Let 
them  do  what  they  like  :  my  soul  is  not  in  their 
hands."  Not  only  the  revolutionaries  took  it  ill  that 
he  did  not  explicitly  cast  his  adhesion  with  them,  but 
the  country  at  large,  whose  national  pride  spumed 
foreign  civilization,  was  offended  at  the  candor  and 
realism  of  his  observations.  And  Turguenief,  though 
Russian  every  inch  of  him,  loved  Latin  culture,  and 
had  developed  and  perfected  by  association  with 
French  writers,  such  as  Prosper  Merime'e  and  Gus- 
tave  Flaubert,  those  qualities  of  precision,  clearness, 
and  skill  in  composition,  which  distinguish  him  above 


232  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

all  his  countrymen ;  yet  this  was  a  serious  offence  to 
the  most  of  these  latter. 

Among  modern  French  novelists,  those  who,  to  my 
mind,  most  resemble  Turguenief  in  the  nature  of  their 
talents,  are,  first,  Daudet,  for  intensity  of  emotion 
and  richness  of  design,  and  then  the  brothers  Gon- 
court  in  some,  though  not  very  many,  pages.  Yet 
there  is  a  notable  difference  in  all.  Daudet  is  less 
the  epic  poet  than  Turguenief,  because  he  devotes 
himself  to  the  study  of  certain  special  aspects  of 
Parisian  life,  while  Turguenief  takes  in  the  whole 
physiognomy  of  his  immense  country.  From  the 
laboring  peasants  and  the  nihilist  students  to  the 
generals  and  government  clerks,  he  depicts  every 
condition,  —  except  the  highest  society,  which  has 
been  reserved  for  Leon  Tolstoi.  And  everything  is 
vivid,  interesting,  fascinating,  —  the  poor  paralytic  of 
"  Living  Relics,"  as  well  as  the  courageous  heroine  of 
"Virgin  Soil,"  —  everything  is  real  as  well  as  poetical. 
Truth  and  poetry  are  united  in  him  as  closely  as  soul 
and  body.  Though  he  is  an  indefatigable  observer, 
he  never  tires  the  reader ;  his  heart  overflowed  with 
sentiment,  yet  his  good  taste  never  permitted  him  to 
utter  a  false  note  either  of  brutality  or  cant ;  he  was 
a  most  eloquent  advocate  of  emancipation,  modera- 
tion, and  peace,  yet  no  diatribe  of  either  a  social  or 
political  character  ever  ruffled  the  celestial  calm  of 
his  muse.  Puchkine  and  Turguenief  are,  to  my  mind, 
the  two  Russian  spirits  worthy  to  be  called  classic. 

Those  who  knew  him   and   associated  with   him 
speak  of  his  goodness  as  one  speaks  of  a  mountain's 


GONTCHAROP  AND  OBLOMOVISM.  233 

height  when  gazing  upward  from  its  foot.  Voguie' 
calls  him  a  heavenly  soul,  one  of  the  poor  in  spirit 
burning  with  the  fire  of  inspiration,  one  who  seemed, 
amid  the  hard  and  selfish  world,  the  vain  and  jealous 
world  of  French  letters,  a  visionary  with  gaze  dis- 
traught and  heart  unsullied,  a  member  of  some  shep- 
herd tribe  or  patriarchal  family.  Every  Russian  that 
arrived  penniless  in  Paris  went  straight  to  his  house 
for  protection  and  assistance. 


II. 

GONTCHAROF  AND  OBLOMOVISM. 

THE  rival  and  competitor  of  Turguenief — not  in 
Europe,  but  in  Russia  —  was  a  novelist  of  whom  I 
must  say  something  at  least,  though  I  do  not  consider 
that  he  holds  a  place  among  the  great  masters ;  I 
mean  Gontcharof.  This  author's  talents  were  fostered 
under  the  influence  of  the  famous  critic  Bielinsky, 
who  professed  and  taught  the  principles  promulgated 
by  Gogol,  —  demanded  that  art  should  be  a  faithful 
representation  of  life,  and  its  principal  object  the 
study  of  the  people. 

Ivan  Gontcharof  was  not  of  the  nobility,  like  Tur- 
guenief, but  came  of  a  family  of  traders,  and  was  born 
in  the  critical  year  of  1812.  His  life  was  humble  and 
laborious ;  he  was  a  tutor,  and  then  a  government 
employee,  and  made  a  tour  of  the  world  aboard  the 


234  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

frigate  "  Pallas."  He  began  his  literary  career  in  the 
middle  of  that  most  glorious  decade  for  Russian 
letters  known  as  "the  forties."  His  first  novel,  en- 
titled "A  Vulgar  History,"  attracted  public  attention, 
and  it  is  said  that  a  secret  notice  from  the  imperial 
censor  in  consequence  was  the  cause  of  the  long 
silence  of  twelve  years  which  the  author  maintained 
until  the  time  when  he  wrote  "Oblomof,"  which  is,  to 
my  mind,  one  of  the  most  pleasing  and  characteristic 
Russian  novels.  I  must  admit  that  I  am  acquainted 
with  only  the  first  volume  of  it,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  it  is  the  only  one  translated;  and  I  must  add 
that  this  volume  begins  with  the  moment  when  the 
hero  awakes  from  sleep,  and  ends  with  his  resolve  to 
get  up  and  dress  and  go  out  into  the  street !  Yet 
this  odd  little  volume  has  an  indescribable  charm,  an 
intensity  of  feeling  which  takes  the  place  of  action, 
and  incidents  as  easily  invented  by  the  idealist  as 
observed  by  the  realist.  In  these  days  the  art  of 
story-telling  has  undergone  a  great  change  ;  the  hero 
no  longer  keeps  a  dagger,  a  cup  of  poison,  rope- 
ladders,  and  rivals  at  hand,  but  he  runs  to  the  other 
extreme,  not  less  trivial  and  puerile  perhaps,  of  ex- 
aggerating small  incidents  that  are  uninteresting,  and 
irrelevant  to  the  subject  or  the  essential  thought  of 
the  work  from  an  artistic  point  of  view.  But  in  "  Ob- 
lomof," whose  hero  does  nothing  but  lie  still  in  bed, 
there  is  not  a  detail  or  a  line  that  is  superfluous  to 
the  harmonious  effect  of  the  whole.  Of  course  I  can 
only  speak  of  the  one  volume  I  have  read.  One  may 
imagine  that  the  author  would  like  to  portray  the 


GONTCHAROF  AND  OBLOMOVISM.  235 

state  of  enervation  and  disorganization  to  which  the 
essence  of  autocratic  despotism  had  brought  Russian 
society ;  or  perhaps  it  is  one  aspect  of  the  Russian 
soul,  the  dreamy  indolence  and  insuperable  apathy  of 
the  body,  which  weighs  down  the  active  work  of  the 
imagination.  It  is  only  a  study  of  a  psychical  condi- 
tion, yet  what  intense  life  throbs  in  its  pages  ! 

Perhaps  this  admirable  and  original  novel  was  not 
translated  in  its  entirety  for  fear  of  offending  French 
taste,  which  demands  more  excitement,  and  could 
not  stand  a  long  analytical  narrative  full  of  detail, 
mere  intellectual  filigree.  Turguenief  was  undeniably 
a  greater  artist  than  his  rival ;  but  he  never  attained 
to  the  precision,  lucidity,  and  singular  strength  of 
"Oblomof"  in  any  of  his  novels. 

As  the  character  of  the  hero  was  drawn  to  the 
life,  the  nation  recognized  it  at  once,  and  the  word 
oblomovism  became  incorporated  into  the  language, 
implying  the  typical  indolence  of  the  Sclav.  On 
some  accounts  I  find  Turguenief  s  "  Living  Relics  " 
more  comparable  to  this  novel  than  any  others  of  his. 
Both  present  one  single  phase  or  state  of  the  soul ; 
both  are  purely  psychological  studies  ;  the  chief  char- 
acter of  both  does  not  change  position,  the  position 
in  which  he  has  been  fixed  by  the  will  of  the  novelist, 
—  I  had  almost  said  the  dissecting  surgeon. 

"Oblomof"  is  in  reality  a  type  of  the  Sclav  who 
chases  the  butterfly  of  his  dreams  through  the  still 
air.  Study  he  regards,  from  his  pessimist  point  of 
view,  as  useless,  because  it  will  not  lead  him  to 
earthly  happiness ;  and  yet  his  soul  is  full  of  poetry 


236  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

and  his  heart  of  tenderness ;  he  reaches  out  toward 
illimitable  horizons,  and  his  imagination  is  hard  at 
work,  but  all  his  other  faculties  are  asleep. 


III. 

DOSTOIEWSKY,   PSYCHOLOGIST  AND  VISIONARY. 

Now  let  us  turn  to  that  visionary  novelist  whom 
Voguie'  introduces  to  his  readers  in  these  words  : 

"Here  comes  the  Scythian,  the  true  Scythian,  who 
puts  off  the  habiliments  of  our  modern  intellect,  and 
leads  us  by  the  hand  to  the  centre  of  Moscow,  to  the 
monstrous  Cathedral  of  St.  Basil,  wrought  and  painted 
like  a  Chinese  pagoda,  built  by  Tartar  architects,  and 
yet  consecrated  to  the  God  whom  the  Christians  adore. 
Dostoiewsky  was  educated  at  the  same  school,  led  by 
the  same  current  of  thought,  and  made  his  first  appear- 
ance in  the  same  year  as  Turguenief  and  Tolstoi';  but 
the  latter  are  opposite  poles,  and  have  but  one  ground 
in  common,  which  is  the  sympathy  for  humanity,  which 
was  incarnate  and  expanded  in  Dostoiewsky  to  the 
highest  degree  of  piety,  to  pious  despair,  if  such  a 
phrase  is  possible." 

Dostoiewsky  is  really  the  barbarian,  the  primitive 
type,  whose  heart-strings  still  reverberate  certain  mo- 
tive tones  of  the  Russian  soul  that  were  incompatible 
with  the  harmonious  and  tranquil  spirit  of  Turguenief. 
Dostoiewsky  has  the  feverish,  unreasoning,  abnormal 
psychological  intensity  of  the  cultivated  minds  of  his 
country.  Let  no  one  of  tender  heart  and  weak 


DOSTOIEWSKY,  PSYCHOLOGIST,   ETC.       237 

nerves  read  his  books ;  and  those  who  cling  to  classic 
serenity,  harmony,  and  brightness  should  not  so  much 
as  touch  them.  He  leads  us  into  a  new  region  of 
aesthetics,  where  the  horrible  is  beautiful,  despair  is 
consoling,  and  the  ignoble  has  a  halo  of  sublimity : 
where  guilty  women  teach  gospel  truths,  and  men 
are  regenerated  by  crimes ;  where  the  prison  is  the 
school  of  compassion,  and  fetters  are  a  poetic  ele- 
ment. Much  against  our  will  we  are  forced  to  admire 
a  novelist  whose  pages  almost  excite  to  assassination 
and  nightmare  horrors,  this  Russian  Dante  who  will 
not  allow  us  to  omit  a  single  circle  of  the  Inferno. 

Feodor,  son  of  Michael  Dostoiewsky,  was  born  in 
Moscow  in  1821,  in  a  hospital  at  which  his  father 
was  a  medical  attendant.  There  is  frequently  a 
strange  connection  between  the  environment  of  great 
writers  and  the  development  and  direction  of  their 
genius,  not  always  evident  to  the  general  public,  but 
apparent  to  the  careful  critic ;  in  Dostoiewsky's  case 
it  seems  plain  enough  to  all,  however.  His  family 
belonged  to  the  country  gentlefolk  from  whom  the 
class  of  government  employees  are  drawn  ;  Feodor, 
with  his  brother  Alexis,  whom  he  dearly  loved,  en- 
tered the  school  of  military  engineers,  though  his 
tastes  were  rather  for  belles-lettres  and  the  humanities 
than  for  dry  and  unartistic  details.  His  literary  edu- 
cation was  therefore  reduced  to  fitful  readings  of 
Balzac,  Eugene  Sue,  George  Sand,  and  especially 
of  Gogol,  whose  works  first  inspired  him  with  tender- 
ness toward  the  humble,  the  outcast,  and  the  miser- 
able. Shortly  after  leaving  college  he  abandoned 


238  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

his  career  for  a  literary  life,  and  began  the  usual 
struggle  with  the  difficulties  of  a  young  writer's  pre- 
carious condition.  The  struggle  lasted  almost  to  the 
end  of  his  life  ;  for  forty  years  he  was  never  sure  of 
any  other  than  prison  bread.  Proud  and  suspicious 
by  nature,  the  humiliations  and  bitterness  of  poverty 
must  have  contributed  largely  to  unsettle  his  nerves, 
disconcert  his  mind,  and  undermine  his  health,  which 
was  so  precarious  that  he  used  sometimes  to  leave 
on  his  table  before  going  to  sleep  a  paper  with  the 
words  :  "  I  may  fall  into  a  state  of  insensibility  to- 
night ;  do  not  bury  me  until  some  days  have  passed." 
He  was  sometimes  afflicted  with  epilepsy,  cruelly 
aggravated  later  in  Siberia  under  the  lashes  laid  upon 
his  bleeding  shoulders. 

Like  one  of  his  own  heroes  he  dreamed  of  fame ; 
and  without  having  read  or  shown  his  manuscripts  to 
any  one,  alone  with  his  chimeras  and  vagaries,  he 
passed  whole  nights  in  imaginary  intercourse  with  the 
characters  he  created,  loving  them  as  though  they 
had  been  his  relatives  or  his  friends,  and  weeping 
over  their  misfortunes  as  though  they  had  been  real. 
These  were  hours  of  pure  emotion,  ideal  love,  which 
every  true  artist  experiences  some  time  in  his  life. 
Dostoiewsky  was  hen  twenty-three  years  old.  One 
day  he  begged  a  friend  to  take  a  few  chapters  of  his 
first  novel  called  "  The  Poor  People  "  to  the  popular 
poet  Nekrasof ;  his  friend  did  so,  and  in  the  early 
hours  of  the  morning  the  famous  poet  called  at  the 
door  of  the  unknown  writer  and  clasped  him  in  his 
arms  under  the  excitement  of  the  emotion  caused 


DOSTOIEWSKY,  PSYCHOLOGIST,   ETC.        239 

by  perusal  of  the  story.  Nekrasof  did  not  remit  his 
attentions ;  he  at  once  sought  the  dreaded  critic 
Bielinsky,  the  intellectual  chief  and  lawgiver  of  the 
glorious  company  of  writers  to  which  Turguenief, 
Tolstoi,  and  Gontcharof  belonged,  the  Russian  Less- 
ing,  who  died  of  consumption  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
eight  years,  just  when  others  are  beginning  to  acquire 
discernment  and  tranquillity,  —  the  great  Bielinsky, 
who  had  formed  two  generations  of  great  artists  and 
pushed  forward  the  national  literature  to  a  complete 
development.  A  man  in  his  position,  more  prone 
to  meet  with  the  sham  than  the  genuine  in  art,  would 
naturally  be  not  over-delighted  to  receive  people 
armed  with  rolls  of  manuscript.  When  Nekrasof  en- 
tered his  room  exclaiming,  "  A  new  Gogol  is  born  to 
us!  "  the  critic  replied  in  a  bad  humor,  "Gogols  are 
born  nowadays  as  easily  as  mushrooms  in  a  cellar." 
But  when  the  author  came  in  a  tremor  to  learn  the 
dictum  of  the  judge,  the  latter  cried  out  impetuously, 
"Young  man,  do  you  understand  how  much  truth 
there  is  in  what  you  have  written  ?  No,  for  you  are 
scarcely  more  than  twenty  years  old,  and  it  is  im- 
possible that  you  should  understand.  It  is  a  revela- 
tion of  art,  a  gift  of  Heaven.  Respect  this  gift,  and 
you  will  be  a  great  writer  !  "  The  success  achieved 
by  this  novel  on  its  publication  in  the  columns  of  a 
review  did  not  belie  Bielinsky's  prophecy. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  the  surprise  of  the  critic 
on  reading  this  work  of  a  scarcely  grown  man,  who 
yet  seemed  to  have  observed  life  with  a  vivid  and 
deep  sense  of  realism,  and  an  unequivocal  minute- 


240  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

ness  that  is  generally  learned  only  through  the  bitter 
experience  of  prosaic  sufferings,  and  comes  forth 
after  the  illusions  and  vague  sentimentalities  of  youth 
have  been  dispelled  and  practical  life  has  begun.  I 
said  once,  and  I  repeat  it,  that  a  true  artist  under 
twenty-five  would  be  a  marvel;  Dostoiewsky  was 
indeed  such  a  marvel. 

This  first  novel  was  the  humble  drama  of  two 
lonely  souls,  wounded  and  ground  down  by  poverty, 
but  not  spoiled  by  it;  a  case  such  as  one  might  meet 
with  on  turning  the  very  next  corner,  and  never  think 
worthy  of  attention  or  study,  and  which,  even  in  the 
midst  of  modern  currents  of  thought,  the  novelist  is 
quite  likely  to  pass  by.  Yet  the  book  is  a  work  of 
art,  —  of  the  new  and  the  old  art  compounded,  classic 
art  infused  with  the  new  warm  blood  of  truth.  This 
work  of  Dostoiewsky,  this  touching,  tearful  story,  had 
a  model  in  Gogol's  "  The  Cloak,"  but  it  goes  beyond 
the  latter  in  energy  and  depth  of  sadness.  If  Dostoi- 
ewsky ever  invoked  a  muse,  it  must  have  been  the 
muse  of  Hypochondria. 

It  was  not  likely  that  Dostoiewsky  would  escape 
the  political  fatality  which  pursued  the  generality  of 
Russian  writers.  During  those  memorable  forties 
the  students  were  wont  to  meet  more  or  less  secretly 
for  the  purpose  of  reading  and  discussing  Fourier, 
Louis  Blanc,  and  Proudhon.  About  1847  these  cir- 
cles began  to  expand,  and  to  admit  public  and  mili- 
tary men ;  they  were  moved  by  one  desire,  and  what 
began  as  an  intellectual  effervescence  ended  in  a 
conspiracy.  Dostoiewsky  was  good  material  for  any 


DOSTOIEWSKY,-  PSYCHOLOGIST,  ETC.        241 

revolutionary  cabal,  being  easily  disposed  thereto  by 
his  natural  enmity  to  society,  his  continuous  poverty, 
his  nervous  excitement,  his  Utopian  dreams,  and  his 
inordinate  and  fanatical  compassion  for  the  outcast 
classes.  The  occasion  was  ill-timed,  and  the  hour  a 
dangerous  one,  being  just  at  the  time  of  the  French 
outbreak,  which  seemed  a  menace  to  every  throne  in 
Europe.  The  police  got  wind  of  it,  and  on  the  23d 
of  April,  1849,  thirty- four  suspected  persons  were 
arrested,  the  brothers  Feodor  and  Alexis  Dostoievsky 
among  them.  The  novelist  was  thrown  into  a  dun- 
geon of  the  citadel,  and  when  at  last  he  came  forth, 
it  was  to  mount  the  scaffold  in  a  public  square  with 
some  of  his  companions.  They  stood  there  in  shirt- 
sleeves, in  an  intense  cold,  expecting  at  first  only  to 
hear  read  the  sentence  of  the  Council  of  War.  While 
they  waited,  Dostoiewsky  began  to  relate  to  a  friend 
the  plan  of  a  new  novel  he  had  been  thinking  about 
in  prison ;  but  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  as  he  heard 
the  officer's  voice,  "Is  it  possible  we  are  to  be  exe- 
cuted ?  "  His  friend  pointed  to  a  car-load  of  objects 
which,  though  covered  with  a  cloth,  were  shaped 
much  like  coffins.  The  suspicion  was  soon  con- 
firmed 't  the  prisoners  were  all  tied  to  posts,  and  the 
soldiers  formed  in  line  ready  to  fire.  Suddenly,  as 
the  order  was  about  to  be  given,  word  arrived  from 
the  emperor  commuting  the  death-sentence  to  exile 
to  Siberia.  The  prisoners  were  untied.  One  of 
them  had  lost  his  reason. 

Dostoiewsky  and  the  others  then  set  out  upon  their 
sad  journey ;  on  arriving  at  Tobolsk  they  were  each 
16 


242  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

shaved,  laden  with  chains,  and  sent  to  a  different 
station.  During  this  painful  experience  a  pathetic 
incident  occurred  which  engraved  itself  indelibly 
upon  the  mind  of  the  novelist,  and  is  said  to  have 
largely  influenced  his  works.  The  wives  of  the  "  De- 
cembrists "  (conspirators  of  twenty-five  years  before), 
most  of  them  women  of  high  rank  who  had  volun- 
tarily exiled  themselves  in  order  to  accompany  their 
husbands,  came  to  visit  in  prison  the  new  generation 
of  exiles,  and  having  nothing  of  material  value  to 
offer  them,  they  gave  each  one  a  copy  of  the  Gospels. 
During  his  four  years  of  imprisonment,  Dostoiewsky 
never  slept  without  this  book  under  his  pillow;  he 
read  it  incessantly,  and  taught  his  more  ignorant 
fellow-prisoners  to  read  it  also. 

He  now  found  himself  among  outcasts  and  con- 
victs, and  his  ears  were  filled  with  the  sounds  of 
unknown  languages  and  dialects,  and  speech  which, 
when  understood,  was  profane  and  abhorrent,  and 
mixed  with  yells  and  curses  more  dreadful  than  all 
complaints.  What  horrible  martyrdom  for  a  man 
of  talent  and  literary  vocation,  — reckoned  with  evil- 
doers, compelled  to  grind  gypsum,  and  deprived  of 
every  means  of  satisfying  the  hunger  and  activity  of 
his  mind  !  Why  did  he  not  go  mad  ?  Some  may 
answer,  because  he  was  that  already,  —  and  perhaps 
they  would  not  be  far  wrong ;  for  no  writer  in  Russia, 
not  excepting  even  Gogol  and  Tolstoi',  so  closely 
approaches  the  mysterious  dividing  line,  thin  as  a 
hair,  which  separates  insanity  and  genius.  The  least 
that  can  be  said  is,  that  if  Dostoiewsky  was  not  sub- 


DOSTOlEWSKY,  PSYCHOLOGIST,  ETC.         243 

ject  to  mental  aberration  from  childhood,  he  had  a 
violent  form  of  neurosis.  He  was  a  bundle  of  nerves, 
a  harp  with  strings  too  tense ;  he  was  a  victim  of 
epilepsy  and  hallucinations,  and  the  results  are  ap- 
parent in  his  life  and  in  his  books.  But  it  is  a 
strange  fact  that  he  himself  said  that  had  it  not  been 
for  the  terrible  trials  he  endured,  for  the  sufferings  of 
the  prison  and  the  scaffold,  he  certainly  would  have 
gone  mad,  and  he  believed  that  these  experiences 
fortified  his  mind  ;  for,  the  year  previous  to  his  cap- 
tivity, he  declared  that  he  suffered  a  terrible  tempta- 
tion of  the  Devil,  was  a  victim  to  chimerical  infirmities, 
and  overwhelmed  with  an  inexplicable  terror  which  he 
calls  mystic  fear,  and  thus  describes  in  one  of  his 
novels  :  "  On  the  approach  of  twilight  I  was  attacked 
by  a  state  of  soul  which  frequently  comes  upon  me 
in  the  night ;  I  will  call  it  mystic  fear.  It  is  an 
overwhelming  terror  of  something  which  I  can  neither 
define  nor  imagine,  which  has  no  existence  in  the 
natural  order  of  things,  but  which  I  feel  may  at  any 
moment  become  real,  and  appear  before  me  as  an 
inexorable  and  horrible  thing"  It  seems  then  quite 
possible  that  the  writer  was  cured  of  his  imaginary 
ills  by  real  ones. 

I  have  remarked  that  Gogol's  "  Dead  Souls " 
reminded  me  of  "  Don  Quixote "  more  than  any 
book  I  know;  let  me  add  that  the  book  inspired 
by  the  prison-life  of  Dostoiewsky  —  "  The  Dead 
House  "  —  reminds  me  most  strongly  of  Dante's 
Inferno.  There  is  no  exact  likeness  or  affinity  of 
literary  style ;  for  "  The  Dead  House  "  is  not  a  poem, 


244  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

but  a  plain  tale  of  the  sufferings  of  a  few  prisoners 
in  a  miserable  Siberian  fort.  And  yet  it  is  certainly 
Dantesque.  Instead  of  the  laurel-crowned  poet  in 
scholar's  gown,  led  by  the  bright  genius  of  antiquity, 
we  see  the  wistful-eyed,  tearful  Sclav,  his  compressed 
lips,  his  attitude  of  resignation,-  and  in  his  hands  a 
copy  of  the  Gospels ;  but  the  Florentine  and  the 
Russian  manifest  the  same  melancholy  energy,  use 
the  same  burin  to  trace  their  burning  words  on  plates 
of  bronze,  and  unite  a  prophetic  vision  with  a  brutal 
realism  of  miserable  and  sinful  humanity. 

"  The  Dead  House  "  also  has  the  merit  of  being 
perhaps  the  most  profound  study  written  in  Europe 
upon  the  penitentiary  system  and  criminal  physiology ; 
it  is  a  more  powerful  teacher  of  jurists  and  legislators 
than  all  didactic  treatises.  Dostoiewsky  shows  espe- 
cially, and  with  implacable  clearness,  the  effect  pro- 
duced on  the  minds  of  the  prisoners  by  the  cruel 
penalty  of  the  lash.  The  complacency  of  narration, 
the  elaborateness  of  detail,  the  microscopic  precision 
with  which  he  notes  every  phase  of  this  torture,  inflict 
positive  pain  upon  the  nervous  system  of  the  reader. 
It  is  fascinating,  it  is  the  refinement  of  barbarism,  but 
it  was  also  a  work  of  charity,  for  it  finally  brought  about 
the  abolition  of  that  kind  of  punishment,  and  wiped 
out  a  foul  stain  upon  the  Russian  Code.  It  makes 
one  turn  cold  and  shudder  to  read  those  pages  which 
describe  this  torture,  —  so  calmly  and  carefully  related 
without  one  exclamation  of  pity  or  comment,  and 
even  sometimes  painfully  humorous.  The  trepidation 
of  the  condemned  for  days  before  it  is  inflicted,  his 


DOSTOIEWSKY,   PSYCHOLOGIST,   ETC.         245 

frenzy  after  it  is  over,  his  subterfuges  to  avoid  it,  the 
blind  fury  with  which  sometimes  he  yields  to  it, 
throwing  himself  under  the  painful  blows  as  a  de- 
spairing man  throws  himself  into  the  sea,  —  these  are 
word-pictures  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Voguie  makes  a  striking  comparison  of  the  dif- 
ferent fates  awarded  to  certain  books,  and  says  that 
while  "  My  Prisons,"  by  Silvio  Pellico,  went  all  over 
the  world,  this  autobiographical  fragment  by  Dostoi- 
e'wsky  was  unknown  to  Europe  until  very  recently ; 
yet  it  is  far  superior  in  sincerity  and  energy  to  that  of 
the  Italian  prisoner.  The  most  interesting  and  mov- 
ing stories  of  captivity  that  I  know  of  are  Russian, 
and  chief  among  them  I  would  mention  "  Memories 
of  a  Nihilist,"  by  Paulowsky.  The  tone  of  resigna- 
tion, of  melancholy  simplicity,  in  all  these  tales,  how- 
ever, is  sure  to  touch  all  hearts.  I  will  not  quote  a 
line  from  "  The  Dead  House  ;  "  it  must  be  read,  at- 
tentively and  patiently,  and,  like  most  Russian  books, 
it  has  not  the  merit  of  brevity.  But  the  style  is  so 
shorn  of  artifice  and  rhetorical  pretension,  and  the 
story  runs  along  so  unaffectedly,  that  I  cannot  select 
any  one  page  as  an  example  of  excellence ;  for  the 
excellence  of  the  book  depends  on  the  whole,  —  on 
the  accumulated  force  of  observation,  on  the  com- 
plete aspect  of  a  soul  that  feels  deeply  and  sees 
clearly,  —  and  we  must  not  break  the  icy  ring  of 
Siberian  winter  which  encloses  it.  It  is  enhanced  by 
the  apparent  serenity  of  the  writer,  by  his  sweetness, 
his  half-Christian,  half-Buddhist  resignation.  With 
the  Gospels  in  his  hand,  Dostoiewsky  at  last  leaves 


246  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

his  house  of  pain,  without  rancor  or  hatred  or  chol- 
eric protests ;  more  than  this,  he  leaves  it  declaring 
that  the  trial  has  been  beneficial  to  him,  that  it  has 
regenerated  body  and  soul;  that  in  prison  he  has 
learned  to  love  the  brethren,  and  to  find  the  spark 
of  goodness  and  truth  lighted  by  God's  hand  even 
in  the  souls  of  reprobates  and  criminals ;  to  know 
the  charity  that  passes  understanding  and  the  pity 
that  is  foolishness  to  the  wise;  he  has  learned,  in 
fact,  to  love,  —  the  only  learning  that  can  redeem  the 
condemned. 

Although  he  had  been  (at  the  time  of  writing  this) 
four  years  released  from  prison,  he  delayed  still  six 
years  longer  before  returning  to  Europe  to  publish 
his  works.  When  he  began  his  labors  for  the  press, 
he  did  not  unite  himself  to  the  liberal  party,  but, 
erratic  as  usual,  he  turned  to  the  Sclavophiles,  —  the 
blind  lovers  of  old  usages  and  customs,  the  bitter 
enemies  of  the  civilization  of  the  Occident.  Fate  was 
not  yet  weary  in  persecuting  him.  After  the  death 
of  his  wife  and  brother  he  was  obliged  to  flee  the 
country  on  account  of  his  creditors.  His  sorrows 
were  not  exactly  of  the  sublime  nature  of  Puchkine's 
and  the  melancholy  poet's ;  they  were  on  the  con- 
trary very  prosaic,  —  lack  of  money,  combined  with 
terrible  fits  of  epilepsy.  To  understand  the  mortifi- 
cations of  poverty  to  a  proud  and  sensitive  man,  one 
must  read  Dostoiewsky's  correspondence,  —  so  like 
Balzac's  in  its  incessant  complaints  against  pecuniary 
affairs.  He  exclaims,  "The  details  of  my  poverty 
are  shameful.  I  cannot  relate  them.  Sometimes  I 


DOSTOI&WSXY,  PSYCHOLOGIST,  ETC.        247 

spend  the  whole  night  walking  my  room  like  a  caged 
beast,  tearing  my  hair  in  despair.  I  must  have  such 
or  such  a  sum  to-morrow,  without  fail !  "  Gloomy 
and  ill,  he  wandered  through  Germany,  France,  and 
Italy,  caring  nothing  for  the  wonders  of  civilization, 
and  impressed  by  no  sights  except  the  guillotine. 
He  wrote  during  this  time  his  three  principal  novels, 
whose  very  names  are  nightmares,  —  "  Possessed  with 
Devils,"  "The  Idiot,"  and  "Crime  and  Punishment." 
I  know  by  experience  the  diabolical  power  of  Dos- 
toiewsky's  psychological  analysis.  His  books  make 
one  ill,  although  one  appear  to  be  well.  No  wonder 
that  they  exercise  a  perturbing  influence  on  Russian 
imaginations,  which  are  only  too  prone  to  hallucina- 
tion and  mental  ecstasy.  I  will  briefly  mention  his 
best  and  most  widely  known  book,  "  Crime  and  Pun- 
ishment," of  which  the  following  is  the  argument : 
A  student  commits  a  crime,  and  then  voluntarily  con- 
fesses it  to  the  magistrate.  This  seems  neither  more 
nor  less  than  an  ordinary  notice  in  the  newspaper, 
but  what  an  analysis  is  conveyed  by  means  of  it !  It 
is  horrible  to  think  that  the  sentiments  so  studiously 
wrought  out  can  be  human,  and  that  we  all  carry  the 
germs  of  them  hidden  in  some  corner  of  the  soul ; 
and  not  only  human,  but  possessed  even  by  a  person 
of  great  intellectual  culture,  like  the  hero,  whose  crime 
is  the  result  of  great  reading  reduced  to  horrible 
sophisms.  Those  two  Parisian  students  who,  after 
saturating  their  minds  with  Darwin  and  Haeckel,  cut 
a  woman  to  pieces  with  their  bistouries,  must  have 
been  prototypes  of  Rodion  Romanovitch,  the  hero  of 


248  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

this  novel  of  Dostoiewsky.  This  young  man  is  not 
only  clever,  but  possesses  really  refined  sentiments ; 
one  of  the  motives  that  lead  to  his  crime  is  that 
one  of  his  sisters,  the  most  dearly  loved,  may  have  to 
marry  an  unworthy  man  in  order  to  insure  the  welfare 
of  the  family.  Such  a  sale  as  this  poor  girl's  marriage 
would  be  seems  to  the  student  a  greater  wrong  than 
the  assassination  of  the  old  money-lender.  The  first 
seed  of  the  crime  falls  upon  his  soul  on  overhearing 
at  a  wine-shop  a  dialogue  between  another  student 
and  an  officer.  "  Here  you  have  on  the  one  hand," 
says  the  student,  "  an  old  woman,  sick,  stupid,  wicked, 
useful  to  nobody,  and  only  doing  harm  to  all  the 
world  about  her,  who  does  not  know  what  she  lives 
for,  and  who,  when  you  least  expect  it,  will  die  a 
natural  death ;  you  have  on  the  other  hand  a  young 
creature  whose  strength  is  being  wasted  for  lack  of 
sustenance,  a  hundred  lives  that  might  be  guided  into 
a  right  path,  dozens  of  families  that  might  be  saved 
from  destitution,  dissolution,  ruin,  and  vice  if  that  old 
woman's  money  were  only  available.  If  somebody 
were  to  kill  her  and  use  her  fortune  for  the  good 
of  humanity,  do  you  not  think  that  a  thousand  good 
deeds  would  compensate  for  the  crime?  It  is  a 
mathematical  question.  What  weight  has  a  stupid, 
evil-minded  old  shrew  in  the  social  scale  ?  About  as 
much  as  a  bed-bug." 

"Without  doubt,"  replies  the  officer,  "the  old 
woman  does  not  deserve  to  live.  But  —  what  can 
you  do?  Nature  —  " 

"My  friend,"  the  other  replies,  "Nature  can  be 


DOSTOIEWSKY,  PSYCHOLOGIST,  ETC.      249 

corrected  and  amended.  If  it  were  not  so  we  should 
all  be  buried  to  the  neck  in  prejudices,  and  there 
would  not  be  a  great  man  amongst  us." 

This  atrocious  ratiocination  takes  hold  upon  Ro- 
dion's  mind,  and  he  carries  it  out  to  terribly  logical 
consequences.  Napoleon  sacrificed  thousands  of  men 
on  the  altar  of  his  genius  ;  why  had  he  not  the  right 
to  sacrifice  one  ridiculous  old  woman  to  his  own  great 
needs?  The  ordinary  man  must  not  infringe  the 
law ;  but  the  extraordinary  man  may  authorize  his 
conscience  to  do  away  with  certain  obstacles  in  his 
path. 

It  has  been  said  that  Dostoiewsky's  talents  were 
influenced  in  some  measure  by  the  fascinating  person- 
ality of  Edgar  Poe.  The  analogies  are  apparent ; 
but  the  author  of  "  The  Gold  Beetle,"  with  all  his 
suggestive  intensity  and  his  feverish  imagination, 
never  achieved  any  such  tremendous  psychological 
analyses  as  those  of  "Crime  and  Punishment."  It  is 
impossible  to  select  an  example  from  it ;  every  page 
is  full  of  it.  The  temptation  that  precedes  the  assas- 
sination, the  horrible  moment  of  committing  it,  the 
manner  of  disposing  of  the  traces  of  it,  the  agonizing 
terror  of  being  discovered,  the  instinct  which  leads 
him  back  to  the  scene  of  the  crime  with  no  motive 
but  to  yield  to  a  desire  as  irresistible  as  inexplicable, 
his  fearful  visit  to  the  place  where  he  lives  over  again 
the  moment  when  he  plunged  the  knife  into  the  old 
woman's  skull,  —  examining  all  the  furniture,  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  bell  again,  with  a  fiendish  enjoyment 
of  the  sound  of  it,  and  looking  again  for  the  marks  of 


250 


MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 


blood  on  the  floor,  —  it  is  too  well  done ;  it  makes 
one  excited,  nervous,  and  ill. 

"  Is  this  beautiful  ? "  some  will  ask.  All  that 
Dostoiewsky  has  written  bears  the  same  character; 
it  wrings  the  soul,  perverts  the  imagination,  overturns 
one's  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  to  an  incredible 
degree.  Sometimes  one  is  lost  in  abysms  of  gloomy 
uncertainty,  like  Hamlet ;  again  one  sees  the  struggle 
of  the  evil  genius  against  Providence,  like  Faust,  or  a 
soul  lacerated  by  remorse  like  Macbeth ;  and  all  his 
heroes  are  fools,  madmen,  maniacs,  and  philosophers 
of  hypochondria  and  desperation.  And  yet  I  say  that 
this  is  beauty,  —  tortured,  twisted,  Satanic,  but  intense, 
grand,  and  powerful.  Dostoievsky's  are  bad  books 
to  read  during  digestion,  or  on  going  to  bed  at  night, 
when  every  dim  object  takes  an  unusual  shape,  and 
every  breath  stirs  the  window  curtains ;  they  are  not 
good  books  to  take  to  the  country,  where  one  sits 
under  the  spreading  trees  with  a  fresh  and  fragrant 
breeze  and  a  soul  expanded  with  contentment,  and 
one  thanks  God  only  to  be  alive.  But  they  are  splen- 
did books  for  the  thinker  who  devours  them  with 
reflective  attention,  —  his  brow  furrowed  under  the 
light  of  the  student-lamp,  and  feeling  all  around  him 
the  stir  and  excitement  of  a  great  city  like  Paris  or 
St.  Petersburg. 

But  there  is  a  drop  of  balm  in  the  cup  of  absinthe 
to  which  we  may  liken  Dostoiewsky's  books ;  it  is  the 
Christianity  which  appears  in  them  when  and  where 
its  consoling  presence  is  least  expected.  Face  to 
face  with  the  student  who  becomes  a  criminal  through 


DOSTOIEWSKY,   PSYCHOLOGIST.   ETC.        251 

pride  and  injudicious  reading,  we  see  the  figure  of  a 
pure,  modest,  pious  girl,  who  redeems  him  by  her  love. 
This  unfortunate  girl  is  a  flower  that  fades  before  its 
time ;  it  is  she  who,  being  sacrificed  to  provide  bread 
for  her  family,  comes  in  time  to  convince  the  criminal 
of  his  sin,  enlightens  his  mind  with  the  lamp  of  the 
Gospels,  and  brings  him  to  repentance,  resignation, 
and  the  joy  of  regeneration,  in  the  expiation  of  his 
crime  by  chastisement  and  the  dungeon. 

There  is  one  marked  difference  between  "Crime 
and  Punishment"  and  "The  Dead  House."  The 
novel  is  feverish,  the  autobiography  is  calm.  Dos- 
toiewsky  is  a  madman  who  owes  his  lucid  intervals  to 
tribulations  and  torture.  Suffering  clears  his  mind 
and  alleviates  his  pain  ;  tears  sweeten  his  bitterness, 
and  sorrow  is  his  supreme  religion ;  like  his  student 
hero,  he  prostrates  himself  before  human  suffering. 

The  best  way  of  taking  the  measure  of  Dostoie' wsky's 
personality  is  to  compare  him  with  his  competitor 
and  rival,  and  perhaps  his  enemy,  Ivan  Turguenief. 
There  could  be  no  greater  contrast.  Turguenief  is 
above  all  an  artist,  almost  classic  in  his  serenity, 
master  of  the  arts  of  form,  delicate,  refined,  exquisite, 
a  perfect  scene-painter,  an  always  interesting  narrator, 
reasonable  and  temperately  liberal  in  his  opinions, 
optimist,  or,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  word,  Olympic, 
to  the  extent  that  he  could  boast  of  being  able  to  die 
tranquilly  because  he  had  enjoyed  all  that  was  truly 
beautiful  in  life.  Dostoiewsky  is  a  rabid  psychologist, 
almost  an  enemy  to  Nature  and  the  sensuous  world, 
a  furious  and  implacable  painter  of  prisons,  hospitals, 


252  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

public  houses  and  by-streets  of  great  cities,  awkward 
in  his  style,  taking  only  a  one-sided  view  of  character, 
a  revolutionary  and  yet  a  reactionary  in  politics,  and 
not  only  adverse  to  every  sort  of  paganism,  but  hazily 
mystical,  —  the  apostle  of  redemption  through  suffer- 
ing, and  of  the  compassion  which  seeks  wounds  to 
cure  with  its  healing  lips.  Their  two  lives  are  cor- 
relative to  their  characters,  —  Turguenief  in  the  Oc- 
cident, famous  and  fortunate ;  Dostoiewsky  in  the 
Orient,  a  barbarian,  the  plaything  of  destiny,  fight- 
ing with  poverty  shoulder  to  shoulder.  It  was  only 
natural  that  sooner  or  later  the  two  novelists  should 
know  each  other  as  enemies.  It  is  sad  to  relate 
that  Dostoiewsky  attacked  Turguenief  in  so  furious 
a  manner  that  it  can  only  be  attributed  to  envy  and 
malice. 

In  his  own  country,  however,  and  in  respect  to  his 
popularity  and  influence  with  young  people,  the  author 
of  "Crime  and  Punishment  "  ranked  higher  than  the 
author  of  "Virgin  Soil."  Just  in  proportion  as  Tur- 
guenief was  attractive  to  us  in  the  West,  Dostoiewsky 
fascinated  the  people  of  his  country.  "Crime  and 
Punishment "  was  an  event  in  Russia.  Dostoiewsky 
had  the  honor  —  if  honor  it  may  be  called  —  of  deal- 
ing a  blow  upon  the  soul  of  his  compatriots,  and  on 
this  account,  as  he  himself  used  sometimes  to  say, 
especially  after  his  epileptic  attacks,  he  felt  himself 
to  be  a  great  criminal,  and  the  guilt  of  a  villanous 
act  weighed  upon  his  soul ;  and  it  happened  that  a 
certain  student,  after  reading  his  book,  thought  him- 
self possessed  by  the  same  impulses  as  the  hero,  and 


DOSTOIEWSKY,   PSYCHOLOGIST,  ETC.        253 

committed  a  murder  with  the  same  circumstances 
and  details. 

After  writing  "Crime  and  Punishment,  Dostoi- 
ewsky's  talent  declined ;  his  defects  became  more 
marked,  his  psychology  more  and  more  involved  and 
painful,  his  heroes  more  insensate,  lunatic,  epileptic, 
and  overwrought,  absorbed  in  inexplicable  contem- 
plations, or  wandering,  rapt  in  delirious  dreams, 
through  the  streets.  His  novels  are,  in  fact,  the 
antechamber  to  the  madhouse.  But  we  may  once 
more  notice  the  influence  of  Cervantes  on  Russian 
minds ;  for  the  most  important  character  created  by 
Dostoiewsky,  after  the  hero  of  "  Crime  and  Punish- 
ment," is  a  type,  imitated  after  Quixote,  in  "The 
Idiot,"  —  a  righter  of  wrongs,  a  fool,  or  rather  a 
sublime  innocent. 

As  much  as  Dostoiewsky  excels  in  originality,  he 
lacks  in  rhythm  and  harmony.  His  way  of  looking  at 
the  world  is  the  way  of  the  fever-stricken.  No  one 
has  carried  realism  so  far ;  but  his  may  be  called  a 
mystic  realism.  Neither  he  nor  his  heroes  belong  to 
our  light-loving  race  or  our  temperate  civilization; 
they  are  the  outcome  of  Russian  exuberance,  to  us 
almost  incomprehensible.  He  is  at  one  moment  an 
apostle,  at  another  a  maniac,  now  a  philosopher,  then 
a  fanatic.  Voguid,  in  describing  his  physiognomy, 
says  :  "  Never  have  I  seen  in  any  other  face  such  an 
expression  of  accumulated  suffering ;  all  the  agonies 
of  flesh  and  spirit  were  stamped  upon  it ;  one  read  in 
it,  better  than  in  any  book,  the  recollection  of  the 
prison,  the  long  habits  of  terror,  torture,  and  anguish. 


254  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

When  he  was  angry,  one  seemed  to  see  him  in  the 
prisoner's  dock.  At  other  times  his  countenance  had 
the  sad  meekness  of  the  aged  saints  in  Russian  sacred 
pictures." 

In  his  last  years  Dostoiewsky  was  the  idol  of  the 
youth  of  Russia,  who  not  only  awaited  his  novels 
most  eagerly,  but  ran  to  consult  him  as  they  would 
a  spiritual  director,  entreating  his  advice  or  consola- 
tion. The  prestige  of  Turguenief  was  for  the  moment 
eclipsed.  Tolstoi  found  his  audience  chiefly  among 
the  intelligence,  and  Dostoiewsky  of  the  lacerated  heart 
was  the  object  of  the  love  and  devotion  of  the  new 
generation.  When  the  monument  to  Puchkine  was 
unveiled,  in  1880,  the  popularity  of  Dostoiewsky  was 
at  its  height ;  when  he  spoke,  the  people  sobbed  in 
sympathy ;  they  carried  him  in  triumph ;  the  students 
assaulted  the  drawing-rooms  that  they  might  see 
him  near  by,  and  one  even  fainted  with  ecstasy  on 
touching  him. 

He  died,  February  10,  1881,  almost  crazed  with 
patriotic  love  and  enthusiasm,  like  Gogol.  The  mul- 
titudes fought  for  the  flowers  that  were  strewn  over 
his  grave,  as  precious  relics.  His  obsequies  were  an 
imposing  manifestation.  In  a  land  without  liberty  this 
novelist  was  the  Messiah  of  the  new  generations. 


TOLSTOI]  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  255 

IV. 

TOLSTOI,   NIHILIST  AND   MYSTIC. 

THE  youngest  of  the  four  great  Russian  novelists, 
the  only  one  living  to-day,  and  in  general  opinion 
the  most  excellent,  is  Leon,  son  of  Nicholas  Count 
Tolstoi'.  His  biography  may  be  put  into  a  few  lines  ; 
it  has  no  element  of  the  dramatic  or  curious.  He 
was  born  in  1828  ;  he  was  brought  up,  like  most 
Russian  noblemen  of  his  class,  in  the  country,  on 
his  patrimonial  estates ;  he  pursued  his  studies  at  the 
University  of  Kazan,  receiving  the  cosmopolitan  edu- 
cation —  half  French,  half  German  —  which  is  the 
nursery  of  the  Russian  aristocracy ;  he  entered  the 
military  career,  spent  some  years  in  the  Caucasus 
attached  to  a  regiment  of  artillery,  was  transferred  to 
Sevastopol  at  his  own  desire,  and  witnessed  there  the 
memorable  siege,  the  heroes  of  which  he  has  immor- 
talized in  three  of  his  volumes ;  on  the  conclusion 
of  the  peace  he  dedicated  some  time  to  travel ;  he 
resided  by  turns  at  both  Russian  capitals,  frequenting 
the  best  society,  his  congenial  atmosphere,  yet  with- 
out being  captivated  by  it ;  he  finally  renounced  the 
life  of  the  world,  married  in  1860,  and  retired  to  his 
possessions  near  Toula,  where  he  has  lived  in  his  own 
way  for  twenty-five  years  or  more,  and  where  to-day 
the  famous  novelist,  the  gentleman,  the  scholar,  the 
sceptic,  —  after  falling  like  Saul  on  the  road  to 
Damascus,  blinded  by  a  heavenly  vision,  and  being 


256  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

converted,  as  he  himself  says,  —  shows  himself,  to  all 
who  go  to  visit  him,  dressed  in  peasant's  garb,  swing- 
ing the  scythe  or  drawing  the  sickle. 

The  more  important  biography  of  Count  Tolstoi  is 
that  which  pertains  to  his  soul,  always  restless,  always 
in  pursuit  of  absolute  truth  and  the  divine  essence, — 
a  noble  aspiration  which  ameliorates  even  error. 
There  is  no  book  of  Tolstoi's  but  reveals  himself, 
particularly  so  the  autobiography  entitled  "  My  Memo- 
ries," and  certain  passages  of  his  novels,  and  lastly, 
his  theologico-moral  works.  Tolstoi  belongs  to  the 
class  of  souls  that  without  God  lose  their  hold  on 
life ;  and  yet,  by  his  own  confession,  the  novelist  lived 
without  any  sort  of  faith  or  creed  from  his  youth  to 
maturity. 

Ever  since  the  time  when  Tolstoi  saw  the  dreams 
of  his  childhood  vanish,  —  began  to  think  for  himself, 
and  to  experience  the  religious  crisis  which  usually 
arrives  between  the  ages  of  fifteen  and  twenty-five, 
—  his  soul,  like  a  storm-tossed  bark,  has  oscillated  be- 
tween pantheism  and  the  blackest  pessimism.  What 
depths  of  despair  a  soul  like  that  of  Tolstoi  can 
know,  unable  to  rest  upon  the  pillow  of  doubt,  when 
it  abnegates  the  noblest  of  human  faculties, — thought 
and  intelligence,  —  and  makes  choice  of  a  merely 
vegetative  life  in  preference  to  that  of  the  rational 
being !  Lost  in  the  gloom  of  this  dark  wilderness,  he 
falls  into  the  region  of  absolute  nihilism.  He  admits 
this  in  his  confessions  ("  My  Religion ")  when  he 
says  :  "  For  thirty-five  years  of  my  life  I  have  been  a 
nihilist  in  the  rigorous  acceptation  of  the  term  ;  that 


TOLSTOI,  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  257 

is  to  say,  not  merely  a  revolutionary  socialist,  but  a 
man  who  believes  in  nothing  whatever." 

In  fact,  since  the  age  of  sixteen,  as  we  read  in  his 
"Memoirs,"  his  mind  summoned  to  judgment  all  ac- 
cepted and  consecrated  doctrines  and  philosophical 
opinions,  and  that  which  most  suited  the  boy  was 
scepticism,  or  rather  a  sort  of  transcendental  egoism  ; 
he  allows  himself  to  think  that  nothing  exists  in  the 
world  but  himself;  that  exterior  objects  are  vain  ap- 
paritions, no  longer  real  to  his  mind ;  impressed  and 
persuaded  by  this  fixed  idea,  he  believes  he  sees, 
materially,  behind  and  all  around  him,  the  abyss  of 
nothingness,  and  under  the  effect  of  this  hallucination 
he  falls  into  a  state  of  mind  that  might  be  called  truly 
motor  madness,  though  it  was  transitory  and  momen- 
tary, —  a  state  proper  to  the  visionary  peoples  of  the 
North,  and  to  which  they  give  an  involved  appellation 
difficult  to  pronounce  ;  to  translate  it  exactly,  with  all 
its  shades  of  signification,  I  should  have  to  mix  and 
mingle  together  many  words  of  ours,  such  as  despair, 
fatalism,  asceticism,  intractability,  brief  delirium,  lu- 
nacy, mania,  hypochondria,  and  frenzy, — a  species  of 
dementia,  in  fine,  which,  snapping  the  mainspring  of 
human  will,  induces  inexplicable  acts,  such  as  throw- 
ing one's  self  into  an  abyss,  setting  fire  to  a  house  for 
the  pleasure  of  it,  holding  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  to 
one's  forehead  and  thinking,  "Shall  I  pull  the  trig- 
ger ?  "  or,  on  seeing  a  person  of  distinction,  to  pull  him 
by  the  nose  and  shake  him  like  a  child.  This  momen- 
tary but  real  dementia  —  from  which  nobody  is  per- 
haps entirely  exempt,  and  which  Shakespeare  has  so 
'7 


258  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM, 

admirably  analyzed  in  some  scenes  of  "  Hamlet "  —  is 
to  the  individual  what  panic  is  to  the  multitude,  or 
like  epidemia  chorea,  or  a  suicidal  monomania  which 
sometimes  seems  to  be  in  the  air ;  its  origin  lies  deep 
in  the  mysterious  recesses  of  our  moral  being,  where 
other  strange  psychical  phenomena  are  hidden,  such 
as,  for  example,  the  fascination  of  seeing  blood  flow, 
and  the  innate  love  of  destruction  and  death. 

But  let  us  turn  to  the  real  literary  work  of  Tolstoi' 
before  referring  to  the  actual  cause  of  his  perturbed 
conscience.     After  the  beautiful  story  called  "The 
Cossacks,"  he  prepared  himself,  by  other  short  novels, 
for  works  of  larger  importance.     Among  the  former 
should  be  mentioned  the  sweet  story  of  "  Katia,"  which 
already  reveals  the  profound  reader  of  the  human 
heart  and  the  great  realist  writer.     For  Tolstoi',  who 
knows  how  to  cover  vast  canvases  with  vivid  colors, 
is  no  less  successful  in  small  pictures ;  and  his  short 
novels,  "The  Death  of  Ivan  Iliitch"  and  the  first  part 
of  "The  Horse's  Romance,"  for  example,  are  hardly 
to  be  excelled.     But  his  fame  was  chiefly  assured  by 
two  great  works,  —  "  War  and  Peace  "  and  "  Anna 
Karenina."     The  former  is  a  sort  of  cosmorama  of 
Russian  society  before  and  during  the  French  inva- 
sion, a  series  of  pictures  that  might  be  called  Russian 
national   episodes.     Like   our  own  Galdos,   Tolstoi 
studied  the  formative  epoch  of  modern  society,  the 
heroic  age  in  which  the  Great  Captain  of  the  century 
awoke  in  the  nations  of  Europe,  while  endeavoring 
to  subjugate  them,  a  national  conscience,  just  as  he 
transmitted  to  them,  though  unwittingly,  the  impetus 


TOLSTOI,  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  259 

of  the  French  Revolution.  Russia  heroically  resisting 
the  outsider  is  Tolstoi's  hero. 

The  action  of  the  novel  merely  serves  as  a  pretext 
to  intertwine  chapters  of  history,  politics,  and  philoso- 
phy ;  it  is  rather  a  general  panorama  of  Russian  life 
than  an  artistic  fiction.  "War  and  Peace  "  is  a  com- 
plement to  the  poetic  satire  of  Gogol,  delineating  the 
new  society  which  was  to  rise  upon  the  ruins  of  the 
past.  If  we  apply  the  rules  of  composition  in  novel- 
writing,  "War  and  Peace"  cannot  be  defended; 
there  is  neither  unity,  nor  hero,  nor  hardly  plot ;  so 
loose  and  careless  is  the  thread  that  binds  the  story 
together,  and  so  slowly  does  the  argument  develop, 
that  sometimes  the  reader  has  already  forgotten  the 
name  of  a  character  when  he  meets  with  it  again  ten 
chapters  farther  on.  The  vast  incoherence  of  the 
Russian  soul,  its  lack  of  mental  discipline,  its  vague- 
ness and  liking  for  digressions,  could  have  no  more 
complete  personification  in  literature. 

One  therefore  needs  resolution  to  plunge  into  the 
perusal  of  works  in  which  art  mimics  Nature,  copying 
the  illimitable  extension  of  the  Russian  plains.  I 
once  asked  a  very  clever  friend  how  she  was  occupy- 
ing herself.  She  replied,  "  I  have  fallen  to  the  bottom 
of  a  Russian  novel,  and  I  cannot  get  out  ! "  But 
scarcely  has  one  finished  the  first  two  hundred  pages, 
as  a  first  mouthful,  when  one's  interest  begins  to 
awaken, — not  a  mere  vulgar  curiosity  as  to  events,  but 
a  noble  interest  of  mind  and  heart.  It  is  the  stream 
of  life,  grand  and  majestic,  which  passes  before  our 
eyes  like  the  expanse  of  a  mighty  flowing  river. 


260  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

Tolstoi'  —  more  than  Turguenief,  who  is  always  and 
first  of  all  the  artist,  and  more  than  Dostoiewsky,  who 
sees  humanity  from  the  point  of  view  of  his  own  tur- 
bulent mind  and  confused  soul  —  Tolstoi  produces 
a  supreme  and  absolute  impression  of  the  truth, 
although,  in  the  light  of  his  harmonious  union  of 
faculties,  it  is  impossible  to  say  whether  he  hits  the 
mark  by  means  of  external  or  internal  realism,  — 
whether  he  is  more  perfect  in  his  descriptions,  his 
dialogues,  or  his  studies  of  character.  In  reading 
Tolstoi,  we  feel  as  though  we  were  looking  at  the 
spectacle  of  the  universe  where  nothing  seems  to  us 
unreal  or  invented. 

Tolstoi's  fictitious  characters  are  not  more  vivid 
than  his  historical  ones,  —  Napoleon  or  Alexander  I., 
for  example ;  he  is  as  careful  in  the  expression  of  a 
sublime  sentiment  as  in  a  minute  and  vulgar  detail. 
Every  touch  is  wonderful.  His  description  of  a  battle 
is  amazing  (and  who  else  can  describe  a  battle  like 
Tolstoi !),  but  he  is  charming  when  he  gives  us  the 
day-dreams  and  love-fancies  of  a  child  still  playing 
with  her  dolls.  And  what  a  clear  intuition  he  has  of 
the  motives  of  human  actions  !  What  a  penetrating, 
unwavering,  scrutinizing  glance  that  "  trieth  the  hearts 
and  the  reins,"  as  saith  the  Scripture  !  Tolstoi  does 
not  exhaust  his  perspicacity  in  the  study  of  instinct 
alone ;  with  eagle  eye  he  pierces  the  most  complex 
souls,  refined  and  enveloped  in  the  veil  of  education, 
—  courtiers,  diplomats,  princes,  generals,  ladies  of 
high  rank,  and  famous  statesmen.  No  one  else  has 
described  the  drawing-room  so  exquisitely  and  so 


TOLSTOI,  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  261 

truly  as  Tolstoi ;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
picture  of  official  good  society  is  terribly  embarrass- 
ing. Some  chapters  of  "Anna  Kar£nina"  and  "War 
and  Peace  "  seem  to  exhale  the  warm  soft  air  that 
greets  us  as  we  enter  the  door  of  a  luxurious,  aristo- 
cratic mansion.  The  master-painter  controls  the  col- 
lectivity as  well  as  the  individual ;  he  dissects  the  soul 
of  the  multitude,  the  spirit  of  the  nation,  with  the 
same  energy  and  dexterity  as  that  of  one  man.  The 
wonderful  pictures  of  the  invasion  and  burning  of 
Moscow  are  continual  examples  of  this. 

Is  "  War  and  Peace "  a  historical  novel  in  the 
limited,  archaeological,  false,  and  conventional  con- 
ception ?  Certainly  not.  Tolstoi's  historical  novel  has 
realized  the  conjunction  of  the  novel  and  the  epic, 
with  the  good  qualities  of  both.  In  this  novel  —  so 
broad,  so  deep,  so  human,  and  at  times  so  patriotic, 
as  Tolstoi  understands  patriotism  —  there  is  a  subtle 
breath  of  nihilism,  an  essence  of  euphorbia,  a  poison 
of  ourare,  which  colors  the  whole  drift  of  Russian 
literature.  This  tendency  is  personified  in  the  hero 
(if  the  book  may  be  said  to  have  one  at  all),  Pierre 
Besukof,  a  true  Sclavonic  soul,  expansive,  full  of  unrest 
and  disquietude,  passionate,  unstable,  the  character 
of  a  child  united  to  the  investigating  intelligence  of 
a  philosopher,  —  a  pre-nihilist  (to  coin  a  word)  who 
goes  in  search  of  certainty  and  repose,  and  finds  them 
not  until  he  meets  at  last  with  one  "poor  in  spirit,"  a 
wretched  common  soldier,  a  type  of  meek  resignation 
and  inconsequent  fatalism,  who  shows  him  how  to 
attain  to  his  desires  through  a  mystic  indifferentism, 


262  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

a  voluntary  abrogation  of  the  body,  and  a  vegetative 
form  of  existence,  in  fact,  a  form  of  quietism,  of 
Indian  Nirvana. 

This  same  philosophical  concept  inspires  all  of 
Tolstoi's  writings.  Once  a  nihilist  and  now  con- 
verted, culture  and  the  exercise  of  reason  are  to  him 
lamentable  gifts ;  his  ideal  is  not  progression,  but  retro- 
gression ;  the  final  word  of  human  wisdom  is  to  return 
to  pure  Nature,  the  eternal  type  of  goodness,  beauty, 
and  truth.  The  Catholic  Church  has  also  honored 
the  saintly  lives  of  the  poor  in  spirit,  such  as  Pascual 
Bailon  and  Fray  Junipero,  the  Idiot ;  but  assuredly 
it  has  never  presented  them  as  models  worthy  of  imi- 
tation in  general,  only  as  living  examples  of  grace ; 
and  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the  intelligence  of  great 
thinkers,  like  Augustine,  Thomas,  and  Buenaven- 
tura, that  is  revered  and  written  about.  In  the 
whole  catalogue  of  sins  there  is  perhaps  none  more 
blasphemous  than  that  of  spurning  the  light  given 
by  the  Creator  to  every  creature.  But  to  return  to 
Tolstoi. 

His  literary  testament  is  to  be  found  in  "Anna 
Kar£nina,"  a  novel  but  little  less  prolix  than  "War 
and  Peace,"  published  in  1877.  While  "War  and 
Peace "  pictured  society  at  the  beginning  of  the 
century,  "  Anna  Kar£nina "  pictures  contemporary 
society,  —  a  more  difficult  task,  because  it  lacks  per- 
spective, yet  an  easier  one,  because  one  can  better 
understand  the  mode  of  thought  of  one's  contem- 
poraries ;  therefore  in  "  Anna  Kardnina "  the  epic 
quality  is  inferior  to  the  lyric.  The  principal  charac- 


TOLSTOI,  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  263 

ter  is  amply  developed,  and  the  study  of  passion  is 
complete  and  profound. 

The  argument  in  "  Anna  Kardnina  "  is  upon  an  illicit 
love,  young,  sincere,  and  overpowering.  Tolstoi  does 
not  justify  it ;  the  whole  tone  of  the  book  is  austere. 
It  would  seem  as  though  he  proposed  to  demonstrate 
—  indirectly,  and  according  to  the  demands  of  art  — 
that  a  generous  soul  cannot  live  outside  the  moral 
law ;  and  that  even  when  circumstances  seem  entirely 
favorable,  and  those  obstacles  which  society  and  cus- 
tom oppose  to  his  passion  have  disappeared,  the 
discord  within  him  is  enough  to  poison  happiness  and 
make  life  intolerable. 

In  both  of  Tolstoi's  novels  there  is  much  insistence 
on  the  necessity  of  believing  and  contemplating  re- 
ligious matters,  the  thirst  of  faith.  Although  Tolstoi 
observes  the  canon  of  literary  impersonality  with  a 
rigorous  care  that  is  equal  to  that  of  Flaubert  himself, 
yet  it  is  plainly  to  be  seen  that  Pierre  Besukof  in 
"  War  and  Peace,"  and  Levine  in  "  Anna  Karenina  " 
are  one  and  the  same  with  the  author,  with  his  doubts, 
his  painful  anxiety  to  get  away  from  indifferentism 
and  to  solve  the  eternal  problem  whose  explanation 
Heine  demanded  of  the  waves  of  the  North  Sea. 
Tolstoi  cannot  consent  to  the  idea  of  dying  an 
atheist  and  a  nihilist,  or  to  living  without  knowing 
why  or  for  what. 

Referring  to  the  autobiography  called  "  Memoirs," 
we  see  that  from  childhood  he  was  troubled  and 
tortured  by  the  mystery  of  things  about  him  and  the 
hereafter.  He  tells  there  how  his  mind  reasoned 


264  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

with,  penetrated,  and  passed  in  review  the  diverse 
solutions  offered  to  the  great  enigma ;  once  he 
thought,  like  the  Stoics,  that  happiness  depends  not 
upon  circumstances,  but  upon  our  manner  of  accept- 
ing them,  and  that  a  man  inured  to  suffering  could 
not  be  afflicted  by  misfortunes ;  possessed  with  this 
idea  he  held  a  heavy  dictionary  upon  his  outstretched 
hand  for  five  mintues,  enduring  frightful  pains ;  he 
disciplined  himself  with  a  whip  until  his  tears  started. 
Then  he  turned  to  Epicurus;  he  remembered  that 
life  is  short ;  that  to  man  belongs  only  the  disposition 
of  the  present ;  and  under  the  influence  of  these 
ideas  he  abandoned  his  lessons  for  three  days,  and 
spent  the  time  lying  on  his  bed  reading  novels  or 
eating  sweets.  He  sees  a  horse,  and  at  once  inquires, 
"When  this  animal  dies,  where  will  his  spirit  go? 
Into  the  body  of  another  horse  ?  Into  the  body  of  a 
man?"  And  he  wearies  himself  with  questionings, 
with  struggling  over  knotty  problems,  with  thoughts 
upon  thoughts,  and  all  the  while  his  ardent  imagina- 
tion conjures  before  him  dreams  of  love,  happiness, 
and  fame. 

Beneath  the  restless  effervescence  of  fancy  and 
youth  the  religious  sentiment  was  pulsating,  —  the 
strongest  and  most  deeply  rooted  sentiment  in  his 
soul.  One  episode  from  the  "  Memoirs "  will  prove 
to  us  the  innate  religious  nature  of  the  novelist.  He 
tells  us  that  once,  when  he  was  still  a  child  in  his 
father's  country-house,  a  certain  beggar  came  to  the 
door,  a  poor  vagabond,  one-eyed  and  pock-marked, 
half  idiot  and  foolish,  —  one  of  those  coarse  clay 


TOLSTOI]  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  265 

vessels  in  which,  according  to  contemporaneous  Rus- 
sian literature,  the  divine  light  is  wont  to  be  enclosed. 
He  was  offered  shelter  and  hospitality,  though  none 
knew  whence  he  came,  nor  why  he  followed  a  mys- 
terious wandering  life,  always  going  from  place  to 
place,  barefooted  and  poor,  visiting  the  convents, 
distributing  religious  objects,  murmuring  incoherent 
words,  and  sleeping  wherever  a  handful  of  straw  was 
thrown  down  for  him.  Within  the  house,  at  supper- 
time,  they  fall  to  discussing  him.  Tolstoi's  mother 
pities  him,  his  father  abuses  him ;  the  latter  thinks 
him  little  better  than  a  cheat  and  a  sluggard,  the 
former  reveres  him  as  one  inspired  of  God,  a  holy 
man,  who  earns  glory  and  reward  every  minute  by 
wearing  around  his  body  a  chain  sixty  pounds  in 
weight.  Nevertheless,  the  vagabond  obtains  shelter 
and  food,  and  the  children,  whose  curiosity  has  been 
excited  by  the  discussion,  go  and  hide  in  a  dark  room 
next  to  his,  so  as  "  to  see  Gricha's  chain."  Tolstoi 
was  filled  with  awe  in  his  dark  corner  to  hear  the 
beggar  pray,  to  see  him  throw  himself  upon  the  floor 
and  writhe  in  mystic  transports  amid  the  clanking  of 
his  chain.  "  Many  things  have  happened  since  then," 
he  exclaims,  "  many  other  memories  have  lost  all  im- 
portance for  me  ;  Gricha,  the  wanderer,  has  long  since 
reached  the  end  of  his  last  journey,  but  the  impres- 
sion which  he  produced  upon  me  will  never  fade ;  I 
shall  never  forget  the  feelings  that  he  awoke  in  my 
soul.  O  Gricha  !  O  great  Christian  !  Thy  faith  was 
so  ardent  that  thou  couldst  feel  God  near ;  thy  love 
was  so  great  that  the  words  flowed  of  themselves  from 


266  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

thy  lips,  and  them  hadst  not  to  ask  thy  reason  for  an 
examination  of  them.  And  how  magnificently  didst 
thou  praise  the  Almighty  when,  words  failing  to  ex- 
press the  feelings  of  thy  heart,  thou  threwest  thyself 
weeping  upon  the  floor  !  "  This  episode  of  childhood 
will  indeed  never  fade  from  the  memory  or  the  heart  of 
Tolstoi'.  After  seeking  conviction  and  repose  in  arro- 
gant human  science  and  in  philosophy,  Tolstoi',  like 
his  two  heroes,  finds  them  at  last  in  the  meekness  and 
simplicity  of  the  most  abject  classes.  Like  his  own 
Pierre  Besukof,  who  receives  the  mystic  illumination 
at  the  mouth  of  a  common  soldier  who  is  to  be  shot 
by  the  French,  or  like  his  own  Levine,  who  gets  the 
same  from  a  poor  laboring  peasant  stacking  hay, 
Tolstoi  was  converted  by  one  Sutayef,  one  of  those 
innumerable  mujiks  who  go  about  the  country  an- 
nouncing the  good  tidings  of  the  day  of  communist 
fraternity.  "  Five  years  ago,"  says  Tolstoi  in  "  My 
Religion,"  "  my  faith  was  given  to  me  ;  I  believed  in 
the  teachings  of  Jesus,  and  my  whole  life  suddenly 
changed ;  I  abhorred  what  I  had  loved,  and  loved 
what  I  had  abhorred ;  what  before  seemed  bad  to 
me,  now  seemed  good,  and  vice  versa" 

It  was  a  sad  day  for  art  when  this  change  of  spirit 
came  upon  Count  Tolstoi.  Its  immediate  effect  was 
to  suspend  the  publication  of  a  novel  he  had  begun, 
to  make  him  despise  his  master-works,  call  them 
empty  vanities,  and  accuse  himself  of  having  specu- 
lated with  the  public  in  arousing  evil  passions  and 
fanning  the  fires  of  sensuality.  A  heretic  and  a  ra- 
tionalist (Tolstoi  is  clearly  both;  for  what  he  calls 


TOLSTOI,  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  267 

his  conversion  is  neither  to  Catholicism  nor  to  the 
Greek  Church),  he  now  abuses  the  novel,  like  some 
persons  nearer  home  with  better  intentions  than 
intelligence,  as  being  an  incentive  to  loose  actions, 
the  Devil's  bait,  and  agrees  with  Saint  Francis  de  Sales 
that  "  novels  are  like  mushrooms,  —  the  best  of  them 
are  good  for  nothing."  Tolstoi  has  not  cast  aside  the 
pen ;  he  continues  to  write,  but  no  more  such  superb 
pages  as  we  find  in  "  War  and  Peace  "  and  "  Anna 
Kare"nina,"  no  more  masterly  silhouettes  of  fine  so- 
ciety or  the  high  ranks  of  the  military,  not  the  im- 
perial profile  of  Alexander  I.  or  the  charming  figure 
of  the  Princess  Marie ;  he  writes  edifying  apologies, 
Biblical  parables  dedicated  to  the  enlightenment 
of  village-folk ;  exegeses  and  religious  controversies, 
professions  of  faith  and  dramas  for  the  people.  Has 
the  great  writer  died?  Nay,  I  believe  that  he  still 
lives  and  breathes  beneath  the  coarse  tunic  and  rope 
girdle  of  the  peasant-dress  he  wears,  and  which  I  have 
seen  in  his  portraits ;  for  in  these  same  books,  written 
with  a  moral  and  religious  purpose,  such  as,  for  in- 
stance, that  called  "What  to  do?"  in  which  he  has 
endeavored  to  dispense  with  elegance  and  suppress 
beauty  of  rhetoric  and  style,  the  grace  of  the  artist 
flows  from  his  pen  in  spite  of  him ;  his  descriptions 
are  word-paintings,  and  the  hand  of  the  master  is 
revealed  in  the  admirable  conciseness  of  diction  ;  he 
controls  every  resource  of  art,  and  is  inspired,  will- 
he,  nill-he.  Tolstoi  was  right  in  reminding  himself 
that  genius  is  a  divine  gift,  and  there  is  no  law  that 
can  annul  it  or  cast  it  out. 


268  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

I  cannot  believe  that  Count  Tolstoi  will  persevere 
in  his  present  path.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  little 
confidence  in  conversion  to  a  rationalist  faith ;  in  the 
second  place,  from  what  I  have  heard  of  the  disposi- 
tion of  the  incomparable  novelist,  I  think  it  impossible 
that  he  should  long  remain  stationary  and  satisfied. 
In  his  vigorous,  passionate  nature  imagination  has  the 
strongest  part;  he  is  enthusiastic,  and  given  to  ex- 
tremes, like  Prince  Besukof  in  "  War  and  Peace ;  " 
he  is  like  a  fiery  charger  dashing  on  at  full  gallop,  that 
leaps  and  plunges,  and  stays  not  even  upon  the  edge 
of  the  precipice.  To-day,  under  the  influence  of  an 
unbridled  sentiment  of  compassion,  he  is  playing  the 
part  of  redeemer  and  apostle  ;  he  imitates  in  his  pro- 
prietary mansion  and  in  the  neighboring  towns  the 
primitive  fraternal  customs  of  the  early  Christians; 
he  follows  the  plough  and  swings  the  scythe,  and  waits 
on  himself,  rejecting  every  offer  of  service  and  every- 
thing that  refines  life.  To-morrow,  perhaps,  his  lofty 
understanding  will  tell  him  that  he  was  not  born  to 
make  shoes  but  novels,  and  he  will  perhaps  regret 
having  thrown  away  his  best  years,  the  prime  of  life 
and  creative  activity. 

At  present,  he  has  abandoned  himself  to  the  grace 
of  God;  and  to  those  of  us  who  are  interested  in 
intellectual  phenomena,  his  religious  ideas,  which  are 
closely  interwoven  with  his  imaginative  creations,  are 
extremely  attractive.  "My  Religion"  contains  the 
fullest  exposition  of  them.  He  states  in  it  that  the 
whole  teaching  of  Jesus  Christ  is  revealed  in  one  single 
principle, — that  of  non-resistance  to  evil ;  it  is  to  turn 


TOLSTOI,  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  269 

the  other  cheek,  not  to  judge  one's  neighbor,  not  to 
be  angry,  not  to  kill.  Tolstoi's  experience  with  the 
Gospels  is  like  that  of  the  uninitiated  who  goes  into  a 
physical  laboratory,  and  without  having  any  previous 
instruction  wishes  to  understand  at  once  the  manage- 
ment of  this  or  that  apparatus  or  machinery.  The 
sublime  and  compendious  message  of  the  Son  of 
Man  has  been  for  nineteen  hundred  years  explained 
and  defined  by  the  loftiest  minds  in  theology  and 
philosophy,  who  have  elucidated  every  real  and  pro- 
found phase  of  it  as  far  as  is  compatible  with  human 
needs  and  laws ;  but  Tolstoi',  extracting  at  pleasure 
that  passage  from  the  sacred  Book  which  most  strikes 
his  poetic  imagination,  deduces  therefrom  a  social 
state  impossible  and  superhuman;  declares  tribu- 
nals, prisons,  authorities,  riches,  art,  war,  and  armies, 
iniquitous  and  reprehensible. 

In  his  earliest  years  Tolstoi  dwelt  much  on  thoughts 
of  the  tragedy  of  war,  and  in  "  War  and  Peace  "  he 
gives  utterance  to  some  very  original  and  extraor- 
dinary, and  sometimes  even  most  ingenious  opinions 
concerning  it.  No  historian  that  I  know  of  can  be 
compared  to  Tolstoi  on  this  point;  none  has  suc- 
ceeded in  putting  in  relief  the  mysterious  moral  force, 
the  blind  and  irresistible  impulse  which  determines 
the  great  collisions  between  two  peoples  indepen- 
dently of  the  external  and  trivial  causes  to  which 
history  attributes  them.  Nor  has  any  one  else  brought 
out  as  clearly  as  Tolstoi  the  part  played  in  war  by  the 
army,  the  anonymous  mass  always  sacrificed  to  the 
personality  of  two  or  three  celebrated  chiefs,  —  not 


270  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

only  in  the  campaign  bulletins  but  in  the  narratives 
of  Clio  herself.  I  believe  it  will  be  long  before  such 
another  man  as  Tolstoi  will  arise,  not  only  in  the 
realms  of  the  art  of  depicting  great  battle-scenes,  but 
so  rich  in  the  gifts  of  military  psychology  and  physi- 
ology ;  one  who  can  describe  the  trembling  fear  in  the 
recruit  as  well  as  the  strategic  calculations  of  the  com- 
mander ;  one  who  can  transfer  the  impression  made 
upon  the  soul  by  the  whistling  of  the  bombs  carrying 
death  through  the  air,  as  well  as  the  sudden  impulse 
that  at  a  certain  decisive  moment  seizes  upon  thou- 
sands of  souls  that  were  before  vacillating  and  un- 
stable, lifts  them  up  to  a  heroic  temperature,  and 
decides,  in  spite  of  all  strategic  combinations,  the 
fate  of  the  battle.  Though  the  strenuous  enemy  of 
war,  Tolstoi  is  perhaps  the  man  who  has  written  about 
it  better  than  any  other  in  the  world  ;  in  every  other 
respect  I  can  compare  him  to  some  one  else,  but 
not  in  this.  In  French  writings  I  recall  only  one 
page  that  could  be  placed  beside  Tolstoi's  ;  it  is  the 
admirable  description  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  by 
Stendhal. 

In  the  name  of  his  own  gospel  Tolstoi  condemns 
not  only  human  institutions  in  general,  but  the 
Church  in  particular  (the  Greek  Church,  of  course), 
accusing  it  of  having  substituted  the  letter  for  the 
spirit,  the  word  of  the  world  for  the  word  of  God. 

It  is  not  to  our  purpose  to  point  out  Tolstoi's 
theological  errors,  but  his  artistic  and  social  errors 
fall  within  the  scope  cf  our  investigations.  We  know 
that,  applying  the  principle  of  non-resistance  in  the 


TOLSTOI,  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  271 

most  rigorous  acceptation,  he  proscribes  war,  and,  as 
a  logical  consequence,  he  disapproves  the  sacred  love 
of  country,  which  he  qualifies  as  an  absurd  prejudice, 
and  reproaches  himself  whenever  his  own  instincts 
lead  him  to  wish  for  the  triumph  of  Russia  over  other 
nations.  In  the  light  of  his  theory  of  non-resistance 
he  condemns  the  revolution,  and  yet  he  is  forwarding 
it  all  the  while  by  his  own  radical  socialism.  Tolstoi's 
social  ideal  is,  not  to  lift  up  and  instruct  the  ignorant, 
nor  even  to  suppress  pauperism,  but  to  create  a  state 
entirely  composed  of  the  poor,  to  annihilate  wealth, 
luxury,  the  arts,  all  delicacy  and  refinement  of  cus- 
tom, and  lastly  —  the  lips  almost  refuse  to  utter  it  — 
even  cleanliness  and  care  of  the  body.  Yes,  cleanli- 
ness and  instruction,  to  wash  and  to  learn,  are,  in 
Tolstoi's  eyes,  great  sins,  the  cause  of  separation  and 
estrangement  among  mankind. 

Besides  this  book  in  which  he  has  set  forth  his 
religious  ideas,  he  has  written  another  called  "  My 
Confession"  and  "A  Commentary  on  the  Gospels." 
In  "  My  Confession "  he  says  that  having  lost  faith 
when  very  young  and  given  himself  up  for  a  time  to 
the  vanities  of  life,  and  to  making  literature  in  which 
he  taught  others  what  he  himself  knew  nothing  about, 
and  then  turning  to  science  for  light  upon  the  enigma 
of  life,  he  became  at  last  inclined  to  suicide,  when  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  him  to  look  and  see  how  the 
humbler  classes  lived,  who  suffer  and  toil  and  know 
the  object  of  life ;  and  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that 
he  must  follow  their  example  and  embrace  their 
simple  faith. 


272  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM, 

Thus  Tolstoi  formulated  the  principle  enunciated 
by  Gogol,  and  which  is  dominant  in  Russian  litera- 
ture, —  the  principle  of  a  return  to  Nature,  for  which 
the  way  was  prepared  by  Schopenhauer,  and  the  sort 
of  modern  Buddhism  which  leads  to  a  subjection  of 
the  reason  to  the  animal  and  the  idiot,  and  a  feeling 
of  unbounded  tenderness  and  reverence  for  inferior 
creatures. 

I  have  devoted  thus  much  attention  to  Tolstoi's 
social  and  religious  ideas,  not  only  because  they  are 
interlaced  with  his  novels,  and  to  a  certain  extent 
complement  and  explain  them,  but  because  Tolstoi, 
though  he  has  allied  himself  with  no  political  party, 
not  even  with  the  Sclavophiles,  like  Dostoiewsky,  is 
yet  a  representative  of  an  order  of  ideas  and  senti- 
ments common  in  his  country  and  proper  to  it ;  he 
is  the  supreme  artist  of  nihilism  and  pessimism,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  apostle  of  a  Christian  socialism 
newly  derived  from  certain  theories,  dear  to  the 
Middle  Ages,  concerning  the  eternal  Gospels ;  he  is 
the  interpreter,  to  the  world  of  culture,  society,  letters, 
and  arts,  of  that  feverish  mysticism  which  manifests 
itself  in  more  violent  forms  among  certain  Russian 
sects,  independent  preachers,  voluntary  mortifiers  of 
the  body,  the  direct  inheritors  of  those  who,  in  dark 
ages  past,  declared  themselves  under  the  influence  of 
spirits.  The  spectacle  of  the  socialist  fanatic  united 
to  the  great  writer,  of  the  Quietist  almost  exceed- 
ing the  limits  of  evangelical  charity  joined  to  the 
novelist  of  realism  almost  d  la  Zola,  is  so  interesting 
from  an  intellectual  point  of  view,  that  it  is  hard  to 


TOLSTOI,  NIHILIST  AND  MYSTIC.  273 

say  which  most  attracts  the  attention,  Tolstoi  or  his 
books. 

He   has   made   great  mistakes,  not  the   least   of 
which  is  his  renunciation  of  novel-writing,  if  indeed 
that  be  his  intention,  though  I  have  heard  some  Rus- 
sians affirm  the  contrary.     By  condemning  the  arts 
and  luxuries  of  urban  life,  and  admitting  only  the 
good  of  the  agricultural,  for  the  sake  of  its  simplicity 
and  laboriousness,  instead  of  helping  on  the  Golden 
Age,  he  compels  a  retrogression  to  the  age  of  the 
animal,  as  described  by  the  Roman  poet,  —  "  the 
troglodyte  snores,  being  satisfied  with  acorns."     By 
anathematizing  letters,  poetry,  theatres,  balls,  banquets, 
and  all  the  pleasures  of  intelligence  and  civilization, 
he  condemns  the  most  delicate  instincts  that  we  pos- 
sess, sanctions   barbarism,  justifies  a  new  irruption 
of  Huns  and  Vandals,  and  endeavors  to  arrest  the 
faculty  of  the  perception  of  the  Beautiful,  which  is  a 
glorious  attribute  of  God  himself.     And  all  this  for 
what  ?    To  find  at  the  end  of  this  harsh  penance  not 
the  love  of  Jesus  Christ,  who  bids  us  lean  on  his  breast 
and  rest  after  our  labors,  but  a  pantheistic  numen,  a 
blind  and  deaf  deity  hidden  behind  a  gray  mist  of 
abstractions.     With  sorrow  we  hear  Tolstoi,  the  great 
artist,  blaspheme  when  he  would   pray ;   hear   him 
spurn  the  gifts  of  Heaven,  condemn  that  form  of  art 
in  which  his  name  shone  brightest  and  shed  lustre  on 
his  country  and  all  the  world,  —  calling  the  novel  oil 
poured  upon  the  flames  of  sensual  love,  a  licentious 
pastime,  food  for  the  senses,  and  a  noxious  diversion. 
We  see  him,  under  the  hallucination  of  his  mysticism, 
18 


274  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

making  shoes  and  drawing  water  with  the  hands  that 
God  gave  him  for  weaving  forms  and  designs  of 
artistic  beauty  into  the  texture  of  his  marvellous 
narratives. 


V. 

FRENCH    REALISM   AND   RUSSIAN   REALISM. 

THE  Russian  naturalistic  school  seems  to  have 
reached  its  culmination  in  Tolstoi.  Concerning  Rus- 
sian naturalism  I  would  say  a  few  words  more  before 
leaving  the  subject.  The  opinions  expressed  are  im- 
partial, though  long  confirmed  in  my  own  mind. 

In  recapitulating  half  a  century  of  Russian  litera- 
ture, we  see  that  this  natural  school  followed  close 
upon  an  imitation  of  foreign  style  and  an  efferves- 
cence of  romanticism ;  it  was  founded  by  Gogol,  and 
.  defended  by  Bielinsky,  the  estimable  critic  who  did  for 
Russia  what  Lessing  did  for  Germany.  The  natural 
school  professed  the  principle  of  adhering  with  strict 
fidelity  to  the  reality,  and  of  copying  life  exactly  in  all 
its  humblest  and  most  trivial  details.  And  this  new 
school,  born  before  romanticism  was  well  worn-out, 
grew  and  prospered  quickly,  producing  a  harvest  of 
novelists  even  more  fertile  than  the  poets  of  the  ante- 
cedent school.  The  date  of  its  appearance  was  the 
period  denominated  the  forties, — the  decade  between 
1840  and  1850. 

The  general  European  political  agitation,  not  being 
able  to  manifest  itself  in  Russia  by  means  of  insurrec- 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN  REALISM.  275 

tions,  tumults,  and  proclamations,  took  an  intellectual 
form  •  and  young  Russia,  returning  from  German  uni- 
versities intoxicated  with  metaphysics,  saturated  with 
liberalism  and  philanthropy,  was  eager  to  pour  out  its 
soul,  and  give  vent  to  its  plethora  of  ideas.  A  country 
without  lecture-halls,  free-press,  or  political  liberty  of 
any  sort,  had  to  recur  to  art  as  the  only  refuge.  And 
making  use  of  the  sort  of  subterfuge  that  love  employs 
when  it  hides  itself  under  the  veil  of  friendship,  the 
political  radical  called  himself  in  Russia  a  sort  of  left- 
handed  Hegelian,  to  invent  a  phrase. 

Thus  Russian  letters,  in  assuming  a  national  char- 
acter, showed  a  strong  social  and  political  bias,  which 
contains  the  clew  to  its  qualities  and  defects,  and 
especially  to  its  originality.  The  academic  idea  of 
literature  as  a  gentle  solace  and  noble  recreation  has 
been  for  the  last  half-century  less  applicable  in  Russia 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  world ;  never  has  litera- 
ture in  Russia  become  a  profession  as  in  France^ 
where  the  writer  is  prone  to  become  more  or  less 
the  skilful  artisan,  quick  to  observe  the  variations  of 
public  taste,  what  sort  of  condiment  most  tickles  its 
palate,  and  straightway  takes  advantage  of  it,  —  an 
artisan  satisfied,  with  honorable  exceptions,  to  sell  his 
wares,  and  to  snap  his  fingers  at  the  world,  at  hu- 
manity, at  France,  and  even  at  Paris,  exclusive  of  that 
strip  of  asphalt  which  runs  from  the  Madeleine  to  the 
Porte  St.  Martin.  Russian  literature  stands  for  more 
than  this ;  persuaded  of  the  importance  of  its  task, 
and  that  it  is  charged  with  a  great  social  work  and 
the  conduct  of  the  progress  of  its  country,  —  Holy 


276  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

Russia,  which  is  itself  called  to  regenerate  the  world, 
— neither  glory  nor  gold  will  satisfy  it ;  its  object  is 
to  enlighten  and  to  teach  the  generations.  It  is  but 
a  short  step  from  this  to  an  admonitory  and  directive 
literature ;  and  the  noblest  Russian  geniuses  have 
stumbled  over  this  propensity  at  the  end  of  their 
literary  career.  Gogol  finished  by  publishing  edifica- 
tory  epistles,  believing  them  more  advantageous  than 
"  Dead  Souls ; "  an  analogous  condition  has  to-day 
befallen  Tolstoi. 

In  spite  of  the  severity  of  Nicholas  I.,  literature  en- 
joyed a  relative  ease  and  freedom  under  his  sceptre, 
either  because  the  Autocrat  had  a  fondness  for  it,  or 
was  not  afraid  of  it.  Under  the  shelter  afforded  by 
literature,  political  Utopias,  nihilistic  germs,  subversive 
philosophies,  and  dreams  of  social  regeneration  were 
fostered.  The  novel  —  more  directly,  actively,  and 
efficaciously  than  the  most  careful  treatises  or  occa- 
sional articles  —  propagated  the  seeds  of  revolution, 
and  being  filled  with  sociological  ideas,  was  devoted 
to  the  study  of  the  poor  and  humble  classes,  and  was 
marked  by  realism  and  sincerity  of  design ;  while  the 
flood  of  indignation  consequent  upon  repressive  and 
violent  measures  broke  forth  into  copious  satire. 

In  this  development  of  a  literature  aspiring  to 
transform  society,  the  love  of  beauty  for  beauty's  sake 
plays  a  secondary  part,  though  it  is  the  proper  end 
and  aim  of  all  forms  of  art.  Therefore  that  which 
receives  least  attention  in  the  Russian  novel  is  per- 
fection of  form,  —  plot  and  method  best  revealing  the 
aesthetic  conception.  It  abounds  in  superb  pages,  ad- 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN  REALISM.  277 

rairable  passages,  prodigies  of  observation,  and  truth  ; 
but,  except  in  the  case  of  Turguenief,  the  composition 
is  always  defective,  and  there  is  a  sort  of  incoherence, 
of  palpable  and  fearful  obscurity,  amid  which  we  seem 
to  discover  gigantic  shapes,  vaguer  but  grander  than 
those  we  are  accustomed  to  see  about  us. 

During  a  period  of  twenty  or  thirty  years  the  novel 
and  the  critic  were  everything  to  Russia ;  the  national 
intelligence  lived  in  them,  and  within  their  precincts 
it  elaborated  a  free  world  after  its  own  heart.  Like  a 
maiden  perpetually  shut  away  from  the  outside  world, 
dreaming  of  some  romantic  lover  whom  she  has 
never  known  or  seen,  consoling  herself  with  novels, 
and  fancying  that  all  the  fine  adventures  in  them 
have  happened  to  herself,  Russia  has  written  into  the 
national  novel  her  own  visionary  nature,  her  thirst 
for  political  adventures,  and  her  eagerness  for  tran- 
scendental reforms.  One  most  important  reform  may 
be  said  to  be  directly  the  work  of  the  novel,  namely, 
the  emancipation  of  the  serfs. 

When  the  more  clement  Alexander  II.  succeeded 
the  austere  Nicholas  I.,  and  the  restraints  laid  upon 
the  political  press  were  loosened  so  that  it  could 
spread  its  wings,  the  novel  suffered  in  consequence. 
The  hope  of  great  events  to  come,  the  approaching 
liberation  of  the  serfs,  the  formation  of  a  sort  of  lib- 
eral cabinet,  the  efflorescence  of  new  illusions  that 
bud  under  every  new  regime,  concurred  to  infuse  the 
literature  with  civic  and  social  tendencies.  Beautiful 
and  bright  and  poetical  is  art  for  art's  sake,  and  as 
Puchkine  understood  it ;  but  at  the  hour  of  doubt 


278  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

and  strife  we  ask  even  art  for  positive  service  and 
practical  solutions.  Who  stops  to  see  whether  the  life- 
preservers  thrown  to  drowning  men  struggling  with 
death  are  of  elegant  workmanship  ? 

In  speaking  of  nihilism  I  have  mentioned  the  most 
important  one  of  the  directive  Russian  novels,  called 
"  What  to  Do?  "  by  the  martyr  Tchernichewsky,  —  a 
work  of  no  great  literary  merit,  but  which  was  the 
gospel  of  young  Russia.  In  his  wake  followed  a  host 
of  novelists  of  this  tendency,  but  inferior,  obscure, 
and  without  even  the  inventive  power  of  their  leader 
in  dressing  up  their  ideas  as  symbolic  personages, 
like  his  ascetic  socialist  Rakmetof,  who  laid  himself 
down  upon  a  board  stuck  through  with  nail-points. 
In  their  turn  came  the  reactionaries,  or  rather  the 
conservatives,  and  in  novels  as  absurd  as  those  of 
their  predecessors  they  clothed  the  nihilists  in  purple 
and  gold ;  it  finally  resulted  that  everybody  was  as 
ready  to  produce  a  novel  as  to  write  a  serious  article, 
or  to  handle  a  gun  at  a  barricade.  If  any  one  of  the 
neophytes  of  the  school  of  directive  novels  possessed 
genius,  it  was  swallowed  up  in  the  froth  of  political 
passion. 

As  an  accomplice  in  guilt,  criticism  did  not  weigh 
these  works  of  art  in  the  golden  scales  of  Beauty,  but 
in  the  leaden  ones  of  Utility.  There  were  critics 
who  went  so  far  as  to  declare  war  upon  art,  under- 
taking to  ruin  the  fame  of  great  authors,  because  they 
wrought  not  in  the  interests  of  transcendentalism ; 
their  motive  was  like  that  which  impelled  the  early 
Christians  to  destroy  the  great  works  of  paganism. 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN  REALISM.  279 

The  popular  novelists  condemned  the  verses  of  Puch- 
kine  and  the  music  of  Glinka,  in  the  name  of  the 
down-trodden  and  suffering  people,  just  as  Tolstoi',  in 
remembrance  of  the  hungry  family  he  had  just  visited, 
refused  to  partake  of  the  appetizing  meal  offered  him 
by  servants  in  livery.  As  art  had  not  achieved  the 
amelioration  of  the  people's  condition,  they  consid- 
ered it  not  merely  a  futile  recreation,  but  actually  an 
obnoxious  thing.  Bielinsky,  with  a  taint  of  this  same 
mania,  at  last  entertained  scruples  against  the  pure 
pleasure  enjoyed  in  contemplation  of  the  beautiful, 
and  was  almost  inclined  to  stop  his  ears  and  shut  his 
eyes  so  as  not  to  fall  into  aesthetic  sins. 

Are  the  authors  and  critics  the  only  ones  respon- 
sible for  this  directive  character  of  most  Russian 
novels?  No.  Two  factors  are  requisite  to  the  work 
of  art,  —  the  artist  and  the  public.  The  Russians 
exact  more  of  the  novel  than  we ;  the  Latins,  at  least, 
regard  the  novel  as  a  means  of  beguiling  a  few  even- 
ing hours,  or  a  summer  siesta,  —  a  way  to  kill  time. 
Not  so  the  Russians.  They  demand  that  the  novelist 
shall  be  a  prophet,  a  seer  of  a  better  future,  a  guide 
of  new  generations,  a  liberator  of  the  serf,  able  to  face 
tyranny,  to  redeem  the  country,  to  reveal  the  ideal, 
in  fine,  an  evangelist  and  an  apostle.  Given  this 
conception,  it  ought  not  to  astonish  us  that  the  stu- 
dents drag  Turguenief  s  carriage  through  the  streets, 
that  they  faint  with  emotion  at  Dostoiewsky's  touch, 
nor  that  the  enthusiasm  of  the  multitude  —  in  itself 
contagious  —  should  sometimes  fill  the  heads  of  the 
novelists  themselves.  The  novelists  are,  in  reality 


280  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

and  truth,  a  faithful  echo  of  the  aspirations  and  needs 
of  the  souls  that  feed  upon  their  works.  The  Occi- 
dentalism of  Turguenief,  the  mysticism  of  Dostoiewsky, 
the  pessimism  of  Tolstoi,  the  charity,  the  revolution- 
ary spirit,  —  each  is  a  manifestation  of  the  national 
atmosphere  condensed  in  the  brains  of  two  or  three 
foremost  geniuses.  Who  can  doubt  the  reflex  action 
which  the  anonymous  multitude  exercises  on  eminent 
persons,  when  he  contemplates  the  great  Russian 
novelists  ? 

There  is  a  difference,  however,  between  the  novel 
which  is  purposely  directive,  the  novel  with  a  moral, 
so  to  speak,  and  the  novel  which  is  guided  by  a  social 
drift,  by  "the  spirit  of  the  times."  The  former  is 
liable  to  mediocrity  and  flatness,  the  latter  is  the 
patrimony  of  the  loftiest  minds.  This  spirit,  this 
social  sympathy,  issued  from  every  pore  of  Ivan  Tur- 
guenief, the  most  able  and  exquisite  of  them  all,  indi- 
rectly and  without  detriment  to  his  impersonality,  and 
with  the  full  conviction  that  it  ought  to  be  so ;  and 
novel-writing  is  useful  in  this  way  and  no  other.  He 
says  as  much  in  a  sort  of  autobiographical  fragment, 
in  which  he  explains  how  and  why  he  left  his  country  : 
"I  felt  that  I  must  at  all  costs  get  away  from  my 
enemy  in  order  the  better  to  deal  him  a  telling  blow. 
And  my  enemy  bore  a  well-known  name ;  it  was 
serfdom,  slavery.  Under  the  name  of  slavery  I  in- 
cluded everything  that  I  proposed  to  fight  without 
truce  and  to  the  death.  This  was  my  oath,  and  I  was 
not  alone  in  subscribing  thereto.  And  in  order  to  be 
faithful  to  it  I  came  to  the  Occident." 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN  REALISM.          281 

If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  great  difference  between 
French  and  Russian  naturalism  lies  in  this  predomi- 
nant characteristic  of  social  expression.  The  de- 
fects and  merits  of  French  naturalism  are  bound  up 
with  its  condition  as  a  purely  literary  insurrection 
and  protest  against  the  rhetoric  of  romanticism.  In 
vain  Zola  exerts  his  Titanic  energies  to  impress  on 
his  works  this  social  significance,  whose  invigorating 
power  is  not  unheeded  by  his  perspicacious  mind. 
He  fights  against  egoism  without  and  perhaps  within ; 
but  only  in  the  two  which  he  conceives  to  be  his 
master  works,  "  L'Assommoir  "  and  "  Germinal,"  has 
he  approached  the  desired  mark. 

The  condition  of  France  is  diametrically  opposed 
to  that  of  Russia.  I  am  only  repeating  the  opin- 
ion of  a  large  number  of  illustrious  Frenchmen  who 
have  judged  themselves  without  any  great  amount 
of  optimism.  They  say,  "We  are  an  old  people, 
depraved  and  worn-out,  our  illusions  vanished,  our 
hopes  faded.  We  have  proved  all  things,  and  now 
we  cannot  be  moved  either  by  military  glory  which 
has  undone  and  ruined  us,  or  by  revolutions  which 
have  discredited  us  and  made  Europe  look  upon 
us  with  suspicion.  We  have  no  religious  faith,  nor 
even  social  faith.  We  desire  peace,  and,  if  possi- 
ble, that  industry  and  commerce  may  flourish ;  we 
are  not  yet  bereft  of  patriotism,  and  we  expect  art  to 
entertain  us,  which  is  difficult,  —  for  what  new  thing 
remains  for  the  artist  to  discover?  Criticism,  spread 
abroad  among  the  multitudes,  has  killed  inspiration  ; 
the  generative  forces  are  exhausted.  We  demand  so 


252  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

much  of  the  novelists  that  they  are  at  a  loss  how  to 
whet  our  appetites,  and  neither  ugliness,  nor  unnat- 
ural crime,  nor  monstrous  aberrations  are  sufficient 
to  stimulate  our  cloyed  palates.  They  are  touched 
with  our  coldness,  and,  like  ourselves,  spiritless  and 
inert,  sick  and  disgusted,  they  feel  beforehand  the 
irremediable  and  fatal  decadence  that  is  coming 
upon  us,  and  they  believe  that  art  in  the  Latin  races 
will  die  with  the  century."  Thus  mourn  some  of 
the  men  of  France,  and  to  my  mind  they  have  a 
basis  of  truth. 

The  artist  never  goes  beyond  the  line  marked  out 
by  his  epoch.  And  how  should  he?  Of  course 
there  is,  in  every  work  of  art,  something  that  is  the 
exclusive  property  of  the  individual,  something  of  his 
own  genius ;  but  as  the  nature  of  the  fish  is  to  swim, 
but  swim  it  cannot  out  of  the  water,  and  the  nature 
of  the  bird  is  to  fly,  but  lacking  air  it  flies  not,  so, 
given  a  social  atmosphere,  the  artist  modifies  and 
adapts  himself  to  it.  The  novelist  cannot  have  an 
ideal  different  from  the  society  which  reads  him ;  and 
if  one  but  perceives  the  rigor  and  inflexibility  of  this 
law,  one  may  avoid  many  foolish  sentiments  expressed 
with  the  intent  to  censure  the  immorality  of  the  novel. 
Take  any  one  of  them,  Tolstoi's,  Zola's,  Goncourt's, 
Dostoiewsky's,  look  at  it  well,  study  it  closely,  and 
you  will  find  in  it  the  exact  expression  and  even  the 
artistic  interpretation  of  a  tendency  of  his  epoch,  his 
nation,  and  his  race.  This  is  as  evident  as  that  two 
and  two  make  four.  Novelists  are  what  they  must 
be  rather  than  what  they  would  be,  and  it  is  not  in 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN    REALISM.          283 

their  power  to  make  a  world  after  their  own  hearts  or 
according  to  any  ideal  pattern. 

Melchior  de  Voguie',  it  seems  to  me,  has  not 
recognized  this  truth  in  accusing  French  novelists  of 
materialism,  dryness,  egoism,  and  paganism,  and  has 
not  taken  into  account  the  fact  that  the  reflex  action 
of  the  public  upon  the  novelist  is  greater  than  that  of 
the  latter  upon  the  former,  or  at  least  that  the  novel- 
ist is  the  first  to  be  influenced,  although  afterward 
his  works  have  an  influence  in  turn,  and  in  lesser 
proportion. 

"  The  French  realists,"  says  Vogui£,  "  ignore  the 
better  part  of  humanity,  which  is  the  spirit."  This 
is  true  ;  and  I  have  said  and  thought  for  a  long  time 
that  realism,  to  realize  to  the  full  its  own  program, 
must  embrace  matter  and  spirit,  earth  and  heaven, 
human  and  superhuman.  I  entirely  agree  with 
Voguie  in  believing  that  naturalism  —  or  to  call  it  by 
a  more  comprehensive  name,  the  School  of  Truth  or 
Realism — should  not  close  its  eyes  to  the  mystery  that 
is  beyond  rational  explanations,  nor  deny  the  divine 
as  a  known  quantity.  And  so  entirely  is  this  my 
opinion,  that  I  could  never  consent  to  the  narrow 
and  short-sighted  idea  of  some  who  imagine  that  a 
Catholic,  by  the  act  of  admitting  the  supernatural, 
the  miraculous,  and  the  verity  of  revelation,  is  in- 
capacitated for  writing  a  profound,  serious,  and  good 
novel,  a  realistic  novel,  a  novel  that  shall  breathe  a 
fragrant  essence  of  truth.  Aside  from  the  fact  that 
literary  as  well  as  scientific  methods  do  not  presup- 
pose a  negation  of  religion,  when  did  it  ever  happen 


284  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

that  Catholicism,  in  the  days  of  liveliest  faith,  im- 
peded the  production  of  the  best  of  realist  novels,  as 
for  example  "  Don  Quixote  "  ?  The  truth  is  that  the 
novel,  given  the  epic  element,  will  be  neither  Catholic 
nor  religious  in  those  societies  which  are  neither  one 
nor  the  other.  The  lyric  element  does  not  demand 
this  harmony  with  society :  a  great  Catholic  poet 
may  be  found  in  a  most  agnostic  country,  but  not 
a  Catholic  novelist. 

The  novel  is  a  clear  mirror,  a  faithful  expression  of 
society,  and  the  actual  conditions  of  the  novel  in 
Europe  are  a  proof  of  it.  I  think  I  have  shown  that 
the  Russian  novel  reflects  the  dreams,  sentiments, 
and  changes  of  that  country ;  it  appears  revolutionary 
and  subversive,  because  the  spirit  of  both  Russian 
intelligence  and  Russian  educated  people  is  so.  In 
France,  where  to-day,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  the 
spiritual  and  eclectic  school,  the  traditions  of  the 
Encyclopaedia  have  prevailed  together  with  a  frivolous 
sensualist  materialism,  the  novel  follows  this  road 
also,  and  without  meaning  to  strike  up  Bdranger's 
famous  refrain,  — 

"  C'est  la  faute  de  Rousseau, 
C'est  la  faute  de  Voltaire," 

I  affirm  that  animalism,  determined  materialism,  pes- 
simism, and  decadentism  may  be  explained  by  the  light 
of  the  great  writers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  not  only 
through  their  literary  influence,  but  because  the  so- 
ciety which  pores  over  the  novels  of  the  present  day 
is  the  daughter  of  the  French  Revolution,  and  the 
latter  is  the  daughter  of  the  Encyclopaedia.  Who 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN  REALISM.  285 

does  not  know  the  relation  which  exists  between  the 
novel  and  the  fashion  in  England,  and  how  the  for- 
mer is  conditioned,  shaped,  and  limited  exclusively  by 
the  latter?  In  Germany  another  curious  phenome- 
non is  apparent.  The  novel  in  vogue  is  historical,  — 
a  condition  appropriate  to  a  country  where  every- 
body is  interested  only  in  epic  life  and  the  contin- 
gency of  war. 

On  account  of  this  interdependence,  or,  in  fact, 
unity,  of  the  novel  and  society,  I  cannot  agree  with 
Voguie  when  he  says  that  the  books  that  are  influen- 
cing and  stimulating  the  multitudes,  the  general  ideas 
that  are  transforming  Europe,  are  proceeding  nowa- 
days not  from  France  but  from  Russia.  It  may  be  true 
of  the  Northern  races,  but  of  Latin  races  it  cannot  be 
more  than  partially  and  indirectly  so.  Does  Vogui6 
find  in  the  French  novel  as  in  the  Russian  the  latent 
fermentation  of  the  evangelical  spirit,  or  are  the  cur- 
rents of  mysticism  that  impregnate  Russia  circulating 
through  France? 

Russia  is  Christian,  in  spite  of  German  materialist 
philosophers  who  for  a  time  set  her  brains  in  a  whirl, 
but  whom  she  has  finally  rejected,  as  the  sea  gives  up 
a  dead  body ;  and  if  I  have  succeeded  in  showing 
clearly  the  forms  adopted  by  the  social  revolution  in 
Russia,  and  the  strange  analogies  these  sometimes 
bear  to  the  actions  of  the  early  Christians,  if  I  have 
shown  the  love  of  sacrifice,  the  ardent  charity,  the 
sympathetic  pity  and  tenderness  not  only  toward  the 
oppressed  but  toward  even  the  criminal,  the  despised, 
the  idiot,  and  the  outcast,  which  characterize  this 


286  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

society  and  this  literature ;  if  I  have  shown  the  de- 
grees of  mystic  fervor  by  which  it  is  permeated  and 
consumed,  —  no  one  need  be  surprised  at  my  state- 
ment and  conclusion  that  although  Buddha  and 
Schopenhauer  have  a  goodly  share  in  the  present 
condition  of  Russian  thought,  the  larger  part  is  never- 
theless Christian.  It  is  my  opinion  that  the  world  is 
more  Christian  now  than  in  the  Middle  Ages,  not  as 
to  faith,  but  as  to  sentiments  and  customs ;  and  if  in 
hours  of  despondency  I  were  sometimes  inclined  to 
doubt  the  efficiency  of  the  word  of  Christ,  the  sight 
of  its  prodigious  effects  in  Russia  would  certainly 
correct  my  doubts.  The  heterodox  nature  of  the 
Russian  faith  is  not  a  nullification  of  it.  The  most 
heretical  heretic,  if  he  be  a  sincere  Christian,  has  more 
of  truth  than  error  in  his  faith.  But  error  is  like  sin : 
one  drop  of  poison  is  enough  to  permeate  a  glass  of 
pure  water ;  yet  it  is  certain  that  there  is  more  water 
than  poison  in  the  glass. 

To  return  to  the  literary  question,  the  Russian 
novel  demonstrates,  if  such  demonstration  be  neces- 
sary, the  futility  of  the  censures  directed  against 
naturalism,  and  which  confound  general  principles 
with  the  circumstances  and  social  conditions  which 
environ  the  novelist.  The  Russian  novel  proves  that 
all  the  precepts  of  the  art  of  naturalism  may  be  real- 
ized and  fulfilled  without  committing  any  of  those  sins 
of  which  it  is  accused  by  those  who  know  it  through 
the  medium  of  half  a  dozen  French  novels.  The 
charge  that  is  oftenest  made  against  the  French 
realist  is  the  having  painted  pictures  of  passion  and 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN  REALISM.  287 

vice  too  nakedly  and  with  too  much  candor,  —  and 
the  charge  is  certainly  not  without  foundation ;  and  it 
may  be  added  that  some  novelists  overload  the  canvas 
and  go  to  the  extreme  of  making  humanity  out  to  be 
more  sinful  than  even  physical  possibilities  admit; 
but  they  must  not  be  made  to  bear  the  responsibility 
alone ;  the  public  that  gloats  and  feeds  on  these  com- 
fits, and  grumbles  when  they  are  not  provided,  —  the 
public,  I  say,  must  share  it.  In  Russia,  where  the 
readers  do  not  ask  the  novelist  for  intricate  plot  or 
high-colored  sketches,  the  novel  is  chaste  :  I  do  not 
mean  in  the  English  sense  of  being  moral  with  an 
air  of  affectation,  and  frowns  and  false  modesty ;  I 
mean  chaste  without  effort,  like  an  ancient  marble 
statue.  In  "  Anna  Karenina "  Tolstoi  depicts  an 
illicit  passion,  extravagant,  vehement,  full  of  youthful 
ardor ;  yet  there  is  not  a  page  of  "  Anna  Kardnina  " 
which  cannot  be  read  aloud  and  without  a  blush.  In 
"  War  and  Peace  "  the  most  candid  pages  are  models 
of  decorum,  of  true  decorum,  such  as  education,  rea- 
son, and  the  dignity  of  man  approve.  In  "  Crime 
and  Punishment "  Dostoiewsky  introduces  the  char- 
acter of  a  prostitute ;  but  this  character  is  no  such 
romantic  creature  as  Marie  Gautier  or  Nana.  She  is 
not  made  poetical,  nor  is  she  embellished  or  exagger- 
ated ;  yet  she  produces  an  impression  (let  him  read 
the  novel  who  doubts)  of  purity,  of  suffering,  of  aus- 
terity. In  Turguenief,  by  far  the  most  sensual  of  the 
great  Russian  novelists,  and  in  Pisemsky,  of  secondary 
rank,  there  is  so  much  art  in  the  disposition  and  har- 
mony of  detail  and  description,  that  the  definitive 


288  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

impression,  while  less  severe  than  in  the  case  of  the 
two  others  mentioned,  is  equally  noble  and  lofty. 

Are  they  any  the  less  Realists  for  this?  They  are 
rather  more  so,  in  my  opinion.  In  order  to  carry 
out  the  great  precept  of  modern  art,  the  novelist  must 
copy  life,  —  the  life  that  we  live  and  that  unfolds  about 
us  every  day.  But  life  does  not  unfold  as  it  is  repre- 
sented in  many  novels  that  are  the  product  of  French 
naturalism.  The  Zola  school  makes  use  of  abstraction 
and  accumulation  in  uniting  in  one  scene  and  one 
character  all  the  aberrations,  abominations,  and  vices 
that  only  a  collection  of  profligates  could  be  capable 
of,  with  the  result  offered  us  in  pictures  such  as  the 
house  in  "  Pot-Bouille,"  that  should  be  handled  with 
tongs  for  fear  of  soiling  one's  fingers.  We  turn  to 
the  reality,  and  we  find  that  all  these  colors  exist,  that 
all  these  vices  are  actual,  —  yes,  but  one  at  a  time, 
intermingled  with  a  thousand  good  or  commonplace 
things ;  then  we  are  in  a  rage  with  the  novelist,  and 
ever  after  bear  him  a  grudge  for  having  a  mania  for 
ugliness.  The  impression  which  life  makes  upon  us 
is  quite  different ;  the  alternative  of  good  is  evil,  of 
poetry  is  vulgarity ;  we  demand  a  recognition  of  this 
from  the  novelist,  and  this  the  Russian  novelists  have 
given  us,  yet  without  leaving  the  firm  ground  of 
realist  art  They  present  the  material,  the  bestial, 
the  trivial,  the  vile,  the  obscene,  the  passionate,  as 
they  appear  in  life,  in  due  proportion  and  no  more. 

We  have  also  to  thank  them  for  having  recognized 
the  psychical  life,  and  the  spiritual,  moral,  and  religious 
needs  of  mankind.  And  I  would  make  a  distinction 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN  REALISM.  289 

between  the  moral  spirit  of  the  English  novel  and 
the  Russian.  The  English  judge  of  human  actions 
according  to  preconceived  notions  derived  from  a 
general  standard  accepted  by  society  and  officially 
imposed  by  custom  and  the  Protestant  religion.  The 
Russian  moralist  feels  deeper  and  thinks  higher; 
morality  is  not  for  him  a  system  of  narrow  and 
inalterable  rules,  but  the  aspiration  of  a  creature 
advancing  toward  a  higher  plane,  and  learning  his 
lessons  in  the  hard  school  of  truth  and  the  great 
theatre  of  art. 

The  spiritual  element  in  the  Russian  novel  is  to 
me  one  of  its  most  singular  merits.  The  novel  should 
not  teach  the  supernatural,  nor  be  the  instrument  of 
any  religious  propaganda.  But  from  this  premise 
to  a  condition  of  mutilation  and  mere  dry  chronicle 
of  physiological  functions  is  a  long  way.  There  are 
countless  facts  of  our  existence  that  cannot  be  ex- 
plained by  the  most  determined  materialist ;  it  is  not 
the  duty  of  art  to  explain  them,  but  art  cannot  justly 
ignore  them,  l^mile  Zola  is  both  a  thinker  and  an 
artist.  As  an  artist  he  is  admirable,  and  is  hardly  be- 
hind Tolstoi'  either  in  poetic  or  descriptive  faculties ; 
but  with  the  artist  he  combines  the  philosopher  — 
may  I  call  it  so  ?  —  the  philosopher  of  the  lowest 
and  coarsest  fibre,  whose  influence  upon  French 
naturalism  has  been  most  pernicious,  and  has  greatly 
limited  the  scope  of  the  novel  in  his  country. 

In  conclusion,  it  is  my  opinion  that  the  only  way 
to  understand  the  naturalistic  movement  is  in  connec- 
19 


2 po  MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 

tion  with  its  social  environment ;  the  impulse  of  our 
age  toward  a  representation  of  truth  in  art  everywhere 
prevails,  and  everywhere  the  novel  has  become  a  re- 
sult of  observation,  an  analytical  study,  as  we  notice 
in  a  general  view  of  European  literature  for  the  last 
forty  years.  The  century  which  began  with  lyric 
poetry  is  closing  with  a  triumphant  novel. 

But  the  great  principle  of  reality  is  differently  ap- 
plied in  different  countries.  Why  was  romanticism 
so  much  the  same  in  England,  Germany,  Spain,  and 
Russia?  Because  it  was  chiefly  rhetoric,  —  a  literary 
protest,  an  artistic  insurrection.  And  why  the  differ- 
ences between  French  naturalism,  the  Russian  natu- 
ral school,  English  and  Spanish  realism,  and  Italian 
verismo  ?  Because  each  one  of  these  phases  of  the 
religion  of  truth  is  adequate  to  the  country  that  con- 
ceived it,  and  to  the  hour  and  the  occasion  upon 
which  it  is  focused.  It  is  no  objection  that  between 
these  various  forms  there  is  close  communication  and 
relation.  Edmund  de  Goncourt  once  remarked  to 
me  that  the  Russian  novel  is  not  so  original  as 
people  think,  for  besides  the  marked  influence  of 
Hoffmann  and  Edgar  Poe  upon  the  genius  of  Dos- 
toiewsky,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  trace  in  the 
other  great  writers  the  inspiration  of  Balzac,  Flaubert, 
Stendhal,  and  George  Sand.  He  was  right  j  and  yet 
Russian  literature  is  not  the  less  indigenous. 

I  should  always  prefer  the  art  that  is  disinterested, 
that  carries  within  itself  its  aim  and  object,  to  the  art 
that  is  directive,  with  a  moral  purpose ;  between  the 
art  that  is  pagan  and  the  art  that  is  imbecile,  I  should 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN  REALISM.  291 

choose  the  pagan.  If  we  Spaniards,  who  are  like  the 
Russians,  at  once  an  ancient  and  a  young  people,  still 
ignorant  of  what  the  future  may  lead  us  to,  and  never 
able  to  make  our  traditions  harmonize  with  our  aspira- 
tions,—  if  we  could  succeed  in  incorporating  in  our 
novel  not  merely  bits  of  fragmentary  reality,  artistic 
individualisms,  but  the  spirit,  the  heart,  the  blood  of 
our  country,  what  we  are  doing,  what  we  are  feeling 
as  a  whole,  —  it  would  indeed  be  well.  Yet  I  think 
this  impossible,  not  for  lack  of  talent  but  for  lack  of 
preparation  on  the  part  of  the  public,  upon  whom  at 
present  the  novel  exercises  no  influence  at  all.  The 
novel  is  read  neither  quantitatively  nor  qualitatively  in 
Spain.  As  to  quantity,  let  the  authors  who  publish, 
and  the  booksellers  who  sell,  speak  what  they  know ; 
of  the  quality,  let  the  numerous  lovers  of  Montepin 
and  the  eager  readers  of  the  translations  in  \hQfeuilIe- 
tines  tell  us.  The  serious  and  profound  novel  dies 
here  without  an  echo ;  criticism  makes  no  comment 
upon  it,  and  the  public  ignores  its  appearance.  Is 
there  a  single  modern  novel  that  is  popular,  in  the 
true  meaning  of  the  word,  among  us  ?  Has  any  novel 
had  any  influence  at  all  in  Spanish  political,  social,  or 
moral  life  ? 

On  coming  from  France,  I  have  often  noticed  a 
significant  fact,  which  is,  that  at  the  French  station  of 
Hendaye  there  is  a  stand  for  the  sale  of  all  the  popu- 
lar and  celebrated  novels ;  while  at  Iran,  just  across 
the  frontier,  only  a  few  steps  away,  but  Spanish,  there 
is  nothing  to  be  had  but  a  few  miserable,  trashy 
books,  and  not  a  sign  of  even  our  own  best  novelists' 


292 


MODERN  RUSSIAN  REALISM. 


works.  From  the  moment  we  set  foot  on  Spanish 
soil  the  novel,  as  a  social  element,  disappears.  It  is 
sad  to  say,  but  it  is  so  true  that  it  would  be  madness 
to  build  any  illusions  on  this  matter.  And  yet  the 
instinct,  the  desire,  the  inexplicable  anxiety  of  the 
artist  to  embody  and  transmit  the  great  truths  of  life, 
the  impulse  that  lifts  men  to  great  deeds,  and  to 
desire  to  be  the  voice  of  the  people,  is  secretly  stimu- 
lating the  Spanish  novelists  to  break  the  ice  of  general 
indifference,  to  put  themselves  in  communication  with 
the  sixty  million  souls  and  intelligences  that  to-day 
speak  our  language.  Is  the  goal  which  we  desire  to 
attain  inaccessible  ?  Perhaps ;  but  as  the  immense 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  penetrating  to  the  Arctic 
regions  and  the  discovery  of  the  open  Polar  Sea 
are  but  an  incentive  to  the  explorer,  so  the  impossi- 
ble in  this  undertaking  should  incite  and  spur  on  the 
masters  of  the  Iberian  novel. 

A  few  words  of  humble  confession,  and  I  have 
done. 

I  feel  that  there  is  a  certain  indecision  and  ambi- 
guity running  through  these  essays  of  mine.  I  could 
not  quite  condemn  the  revolution  in  Russia,  nor  could 
I  altogether  approve  its  doctrines  and  discoveries. 
A  book  must  reflect  an.  intellectual  condition  which, 
in  my  case,  is  one  of  uncertainty,  vacillation,  anxiety, 
surprise,  and  interest.  My  vision  has  not  been  per- 
fectly clear,  therefore  I  have  offered  no  conclusive 
judgments,  —  for  conviction  and  affirmation  can  only 
proceed  from  the  mind  they  have  mastered.  Russia 
is  an  enigma ;  let  those  solve  it  who  can,  —  I  could 


FRENCH  AND  RUSSIAN  REALISM.  293 

not  The  Sphinx  called  to  me ;  I  looked  into  the 
depths  of  her  eyes,  I  felt  the  sweet  and  bewildering 
attraction  of  the  unknown,  I  questioned  her,  and  like 
the  German  poet  I  wait,  with  but  moderate  hope,  for 
the  answer  to  come  to  me,  borne  by  voices  of  the 
ocean  of  Time. 


THE  END. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE.     By 
VICTOR  HUGO.    Translated  by  MELVILLE  B. 
ANDERSON,  8vo,  gilt  top,  425  pages.    Price,  #1.50. 

In  half  calf  or  half  morocco,  $4.00. 


This  is  pre-eminently  the  most  characteristic,  the  most  in- 
tensely Hugoesque  of  all  the  author's  prose  works.  "The 
splendid  eloquence  and  heroic  enthusiasm  of  Victor  Hugo," 
says  Swinburne,  "  never  found  more  noble  and  sustained  ex- 
pression than  in  this  volume." 

Few  prose  works  of  the  great  French  novelist  and  poet  have  a 
greater  interest  for  English  readers  than  this  volume.  —  The 
Book  Buyer,  New  York. 

Here,  then,  is  a  book  that  ought  to  have  a  wide  reading  in 
America.  .  .  .  No  man  but  will  live  and  breathe  more  gener- 
ously, nobly,  and  hopefully  for  reading  Victor  Hugo's  book.  — 
The  Herald,  Boston, 

It  would  be  difficult  to  name  a  book  with  so  many  unforgettable 
sayings  upon  art  and  literature,  so  many  paragraphs  rhythmic 
with  passionate  enthusiasm  for  progress  and  justice.  —  The 
Transcript,  Boston. 

To  read  it  is  an  education,  to  reflect  upon  it  is  an  inspiration. 
To  the  translator  the  English-reading  world  is  under  a  large 
debt  of  gratitude,  for  he  has  given  us  a  book  which  will  out- 
last the  age  in  which  it  has  been  written.  —  The  Keystone, 
Philadelphia. 

This  volume  is  much  more  than  a  study  of  Shakespeare.  All  his- 
tory, all  theology,  and  all  philosophy  are  grasped  and  handled  with 
titanic  force,  the  bard  of  Avon  furnishing  the  pretext  for  magni- 
ficent speculation.  Why  has  this  ecreat  work  of  Shakespeare 
never  before  been  Anglicized  ?  —  The  Bulletin,  Philadelphia. 


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LIFE    OF     ABRAHAM     LINCOLN, 
By  the  Hon.  ISAAC    N.   ARNOLD.    With  Steel 
Portrait.    8vo,  doth,   471  pages.    Price,  $1.50. 

In  half  calf  or  half  morocco,  $3-5°- 


It  is  decidedly  the  best  and  most  complete  Life  of  Lincoln 
that  has  yet  appeared.  —  Contemporary  Review,  London. 

Mr.  Arnold  succeeded  to  a  singular  extent  in  assuming  the 
broad  view  and  judicious  voice  of  posterity  and  exhibiting  the 
greatest  figure  of  our  time  in  its  true  perspective.  —  The  Trib- 
une, New  York. 

It  is  the  only  Life  of  Lincoln  thus  far  published  that  is  likely 
to  live,  —  the  only  one  that  has  any  serious  pretensions  to  depict 
him  with  adequate  veracity,  completeness,  and  dignity.  —  The 
Sun,  New  York. 

The  author  knew  Mr.  Lincoln  long  and  intimately,  and  no  one 
was  better  fitted  for  the  task  of  preparing  his  biography.  He 
has  written  with  tenderness  and  fidelity,  with  keen  discrimina- 
tion, and  with  graphic  powers  of  description  and  analysis.  —  Tke 
Interior,  Chicago. 

Mr.  Arnold's  "  Life  of  President  Lincoln  "  is  excellent  in 
almost  every  respect.  .  .  .  The  author  has  painted  a  graphic  and 
life-like  portrait  of  the  remarkable  man  who  was  called  to  decide 
on  the  destinies  of  his  country  at  the  crisis  of  its  fate.  —  The 
Times,  London. 

The  book  is  particularly  rich  in  incidents  connected  with  the 
early  career  of  Mr.  Lincoln  ;  and  it  is  without  exception  the 
most  satisfactory  record  of  his  life  that  has  yet  been  written. 
Readers  will  also  find  that  in  its  entirety  it  is  a  work  of  absorb- 
ing and  enduring  interest  that  will  enchain  the  attention  more 
effectually  than  any  novel.  —  Magazine  of  American  History, 
New  York. 

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•T^HE    AZTECS.     Their    History,    Man- 

-*•      ners,  and  Customs.    From  the  French  of  LUCIEW 
BIART.     Authorized  translation  by  J.  L.  GARNER. 
Illustrated,  8vo,  340  pages,  price,  $2.00. 

The  author  has  travelled  through  the  country  of  whose  former 
glories  his  book  is  a  recital,  and  his  studies  and  discoveries  leaven 
the  book  throughout.  The  volume  is  absorbingly  interesting, 
and  is  as  attractive  in  style  as  it  is  in  material.  —  Saturday 
Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 

Nowhere  has  this  subject  been  more  fully  and  intelligently 
treated  than  in  this  volume,  now  placed  within  reach  of  American 
readers.  The  mythology  of  the  Aztecs  receives  special  attention, 
and  all  that  is  known  of  their  lives,  their  hopes,  their  fears,  and 
aspirations  finds  record  here.—  7~he  Tribune,  Chicago. 

The  man  who  can  rise  from  the  study  of  Lucien  Biart's  inval- 
uable work,  "The  Aztecs,"  without  feelings  of  amazement  and 
admiration  for  the  history  and  the  government,  and  for  the  arts 
cultivated  by  these  Romans  of  the  New  World  is  not  to  be 
envied.  —  The  A  dvance,  Chicago. 

The  twilight  origin  of  the  present  race  is  graphically  presented ; 
those  strange  people  whose  traces  have  almost  vanished  from  off 
the  face  of  the  earth  again  live  before  us.  Their  taxes  and  trib- 
utes, their  marriage  ceremonies,  their  burial  customs,  laws, 
medicines,  food,  poetry,  and  dances  are  described.  .  .  .  The 
book  is  a  very  interesting  one,  and  is  brought  out  with  copious 
illustrations.  —  The  Traveller,  Boston. 

M.  Biart  is  the  most  competent  authority  living  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  Aztecs.  He  spent  many  years  in  Mexico,  studied 
his  subject  carefully  through  all  means  of  information,  and  wrote 
his  book  from  the  view-point  of  a  scientist.  His  style  is  very  at- 
tractive, and  it  has  been  very  successfully  translated.  The  gen- 
eral reader,  as  well  as  all  scholars,  will  be  much  taken  with  the 
work.  —  Chronicle  Telegraph,  Pittsburg. 

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TTOME  LIFE  OF  GREAT  AUTHORS. 
•*•  •*•  By  HATTIE  TYNG  GRISWOLD,  i2mo,  385  pages. 
Price,  $1.50. 

la  half  calf  or  half  morocco,  $3.50 


A  collection  of  upward  of  thirty  descriptive  sketches,  hav- 
ing for  their  subjects  Byron,  Burns,  the  Brownings,  Bryant,  Bul- 
wer,  Bronte  (Charlotte),  Carlyle,  Dickens,  De  Stael,  De  Quincey, 
£liot  (George),  Emerson,  Fuller  (Margaret),  Irving,  Goethe, 
Hawthorne,  Holmes,  Hugo,  Kingsley,  Lowell,  Lamb,  Long- 
fellow, Macaulay,  North  (Kit),  Poe,  Ruskin,  Shelley,  Scott,  Sand 
(George),  Thackeray,  Tennyson,  Wordsworth,  and  Whittier. 

No  such  excellent  collection  of  brief  biographies  of  literary 
favorites  has  ever  before  appeared  in  this  country.  Mrs.  Gris- 
wold's  taste  and  discretion  are  as  much  to  be  admired  as  her  in- 
dustry in  the  composition  of  these  delightful  sketches.  —  The 
Bulletin,  Philadelphia. 

Most  often  we  have  a  condensed  biography,  with  special  at- 
tention given  to  the  personal  element  in  the  way  of  description, 
anecdote,  reminiscences,  and  other  such  matters  as  a  skilful  col- 
lector could  gather  from  the  plentiful  sources  of  such  information. 
There  is  a  noticeable  good  taste  shown  in  dealing  with  those 
more  intimate  portions  of  the  lives  of  the  heroes  and  heroines,  — 
the  affaires  de  cceur.  — The  Nation,  New  York. 

The  author  has  shown  a  rare  discrimination  in  the  treatment  of 
her  subjects.  And  in  nothing  has  this  faculty  been  better  dis- 
played than  in  her  selection  of  authors.  This  alone  is  a  difficult 
task,  —  one  in  which  any  writer  would  be  sure  to  offen  J,  at  least 
by  omission.  But  the  table  of  contents  of  this  book  is  a  gratify- 
ing success,  and  the  menu  here  provided  will  abundantly  satisfy 
the  most  of  readers.  —  The  Express,  Buffalo. 


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BOOK-LOVER.     A  Guide  to  the 

Best  Reading.  By  JAMES  BALDWIN,  Ph.  D. 
Sixth  edition,  i6mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  201  pages.  Price, 
Ji.oo. 

In  half  calf  or  half  morocco,  $2.50. 

Of  this  book,  on  the  best  in  English  Literature,  which  has 
Already  been  declared  of  the  highest  value  by  the  testimony  of 
the  best  critics  in  this  country,  an  edition  of  one  thousand  copies 
has  just  been  ordered  for  London,  the  home  of  English  Liter- 
ature, —  a  compliment  of  which  its  scholarly  western  author  may 
justly  be  proud. 

We  know  of  no  work  of  the  kind  which  gives  so  much  useful 
information  in  so  small  a  space.  —  Evening  Telegram,  New 
York. 

Sound  in  theory  and  in  a  practical  point  of  view.  The  courses 
of  reading  laid  down  are  made  of  good  books,  and  in  general,  of 
the  best.  —  Independent,  New  York. 

Mr.  Baldwin  has  written  in  this  monograph  a  delightful  eulo- 
gium  of  books  and  their  manifold  influence,  and  has  gained 
therein  two  classes  of  readers,  —  the  scholarly  class,  to  which  he 
belongs,  and  the  receptive  class,  which  he  has  benefited.  — 
Evening  Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

If  a  man  needs  that  the  love  of  books  be  cultivated  within  him, 
such  a  gem  of  a  book  as  Dr.  Baldwin's  ought  to  do  the  work. 
Perfect  and  inviting  in  all  that  a  book  ought  outwardly  to  be,  its 
contents  are  such  as  to  instruct  the  mind  at  the  same  time  that 
they  answer  the  taste,  and  the  reader  who  goes  carefully  through 
its  two  hundred  pages  ought  not  only  to  love  books  in  general 
better  than  he  ever  did  before,  but  to  love  them  more  wisely, 
more  intelligently,  more  discriminatingly,  and  with  more  profit 
to  his  own  soul.  — Literary  World,  Boston. 


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STANDARD    OPERAS.     Their 
-*•       Plots,  their  Music,  and  their  Composers.    By 
GEORGE  P.  UPTON,  author  of  "  Woman  in  Music," 
etc.,  etc. 

I2mo,  flexible  cloth,  yellow  edges $1.50 

The  same,  extra  ailt,  gilt  edges roo 


"  Mr.  Upton  has  performed  a  service  that  can  hardly  be  too 
highly  appreciated,  in  collecting  the  plots,  music,  and  the  com- 
posers of  the  standard  operas,  to  the  number  of  sixty-four,  and 
bringing  them  together  in  one  perfectly  arranged  volume.  ... 
His  work  is  one  simply  invaluable  to  the  general  reading  pub- 
lic. Technicalities  are  avoided,  the  aim  being  to  give  to  musi- 
cally uneducated  lovers  of  the  opera  a  clear  understanding  of  the 
works  they  hear.  It  is  description,  not  criticism,  and  calculated 
to  greatly  increase  the  intelligent  enjoyment  of  music."  — Boston 
Traveller. 

"  Among  the  multitude  of  handbooks  which  are  published 
every  year,  and  are  described  by  easy-going  writers  of  book- 
notices  as  supplying  a  long-felt  want,  we  know  of  none  which 
so  completely  carries  out  the  intention  of  the  writer  as  '  The 
Standard  Operas,'  by  Mr.  George  P.  Upton,  whose  object  is  to 
present  to  his  readers  a  comprehensive  sketch  of  each  of  the 
operas  contained  in  the  modern  repertory.  ...  There  are 
thousands  of  music-loving  people  who  will  be  glad  to  have  the 
kind  of  knowledge  which  Mr.  Upton  has  collected  for  their 
benefit,  and  has  cast  in  a  clear  and  compact  form."  —  R.  ff. 
Stoddard,  in  "  Evening  Mail  and  Express  "  {New  York). 

"  The  summaries  of  the  plots  are  so  clear,  logical,  and  well 
written,  that  one  can  read  them  with  real  pleasure,  which  cannot 
be  said  of  the  ordinary  operatic  synopses.  But  the  most  im- 
portant circumstance  is  that  Mr.  Upton's  book  is  fully  abreast 
Of  the  times."  ~  The  Nation  (New  York). 


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STANDARD     ORATORIOS. 

•*-  Their  Stories,  their  Music,  and  their  Composers.  A 
Handbook.  By  GEORGE  P.  UPTON,  izmo,  335  pages, 
yellow  edges,  price,  #1.50;  extra  gilt,  gilt  edges,  $2.00. 

In  half  calf,  gilt  top    ....     $3.25 
In  half  morocco,  gilt  edges    .       3.75 

Music  lovers  are  under  a  new  obligation  to  Mr.  Upton  for  this 
companion  to  his  "Standard  Operas,"  —  two  books  which  de- 
serve to  be  placed  on  the  samesheif  with  Grove's  and  Riemann's 
musical  dictionaries.  —  The  Nation,  New  York. 

Mr.  George  P.  Upton  has  followed  in  the  lines  that  he  laid 
down  in  his  "  Standard  Operas,"  and  has  produced  an  admira- 
ble handwork,  which  answers  every  purpose  that  such  a  volume 
is  designed  to  answer,  and  which  is  certain  to  be  popular  now 
and  for  years  to  come.  —  The  Mail  and  Express,  New  York, 

Like  the  valuable  art  hand-books  of  Mrs.  Jamison,  these 
volumes  contain  a  world  of  interesting  information,  indispensable 
to  critics  and  art  amateurs.  The  volume  under  review  is  ele- 
gantly and  succinctly  written,  and  the  subjects  are  handled  in  a 
thoroughly  comprehensive  manner. — Public  Opinion,  Wash- 
ington. 

The  book  is  a  masterpiece  of  skilful  handling,  charming  the 
reader  with  its  pure  English  style,  and  keeping  his  attention 
always  awake  in  an  arrangement  of  matter  which  makes  each 
succeeding  page  and  chapter  fresh  in  interest  and  always  full 
of  instruction,  while  always  entertaining.  —  The  Standard, 
Chicago. 

The  author  of  this  book  has  done  a  real  service  to  the  vast 
number  of  people  who,  while  they  are  lovers  of  music,  have 
neither  the  leisure  nor  inclination  to  become  deeply  versed  in  its 
literature.  .  .  .  The  information  conveyed  is  of  just  the  sort  that 
the  average  of  cultivated  people  will  welcome  as  an  aid  to  com- 
prehending and  talking  about  this  species  of  musical  composi- 
tion. —  Church  Magazine,  Philadelphia. 

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HTHE  STANDARD  CANTATAS.  Their 

*-  Stories,  their  Music,  and  their  Composers.  A  Hand- 
book. By  GEORGE  P.  UPTON.  I2mo,  367  pages,  yellow 
edges,  price,  $1.50  ;  extra  gilt,  gilt  edges,  #2.00. 

In  half  calf,  gilt  top    ....    $3.25 
In  half  morocco,  gilt  edges    .      3.75 


The  "  Standard  Cantatas  "  forms  the  third  volume  in  the  unl« 
form  series  which  already  includes  the  now  well  known  "  Stan* 
dard  Operas"  and  the  "  Standard  Oratorios."  This  latest  work 
deals  with  a  class  of  musical  compositions,  midway  between  the 
opera  and  the  oratorio,  which  is  growing  rapidly  in  favor  both 
with  composers  and  audiences. 

As  in  the  two  former  works,  the  subject  is  treated,  so  far  as 
possible,  in  an  untechnical  manner,  so  that  it  may  satisfy  the 
needs  of  musically  uneducated  music  lovers,  and  add  to  their  en- 
joyment by  a  plain  statement  of  the  story  of  the  cantata  and  a 
popular  analysis  of  its  music,  with  brief  pertinent  selections  from 
its  poetical  text. 

The  book  includes  a  comprehensive  essay  on  the  origin  of  the 
cantata,  and  its  development  from  rude  beginnings  ;  biographical 
sketches  of  the  composers ;  carefully  prepared  descriptions  of 
the  plots  and  the  music  ;  and  an  appendix  containing  the  names 
and  dates  of  composition  of  all  the  best  known  cantatas  from  the 
earliest  times. 

This  series  of  works  on  popular  music  has  steadily  grown  in 
favor  since  the  appearance  of  the  first  volume  on  the  Operas, 
When  the  series  is  completed,  as  it  will  be  next  year  by  a  volume 
on  the  Standard  Symphonies,  it  will  be,  as  the  New  York 
"  Nation  '  has  said,  indispensable  to  every  musical  library. 


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THE     STANDARD      SYMPHONIES. 
Their  History,  their  Music,  and  their  Composers. 
A  Handbook.     By  GEORGE  P.  UPTON.     i2mo,  321  pages, 
yellow  edges,  price  $1.50;  extra  gilt,  gilt  edges,  $2.00. 

In  half  calf,  gilt  top    ....    $3  23 
In  half  morocco,  gilt  edges     .       3.75 


The  usefulness  of  this  handbook  cannot  be  doubted.  Its 
pages  are  packed  full  of  these  fascinating  renderings.  The 
accounts  of  each  composer  are  succinct  and  yet  sufficient.  The 
author  has  done  a  genuine  service  to  the  world  of  music  lovers. 
The  comprehension  of  orchestral  work  of  the  highest  character 
is  aided  efficiently  by  this  volume.  The  mechanical  execution 
of  the  volume  is  in  harmony  with  its  subject.  No  worthier 
volume  can  be  found  to  put  into  the  hands  of  an  amateur  or  a 
friend  of  music. — Public  Opinion,  Washington. 

None  who  have  seen  the  previous  books  of  Mr.  Upton  will 
need  assurance  that  this  is  as  indispensable  as  the  others  to  one 
who  would  listen  intelligently  to  that  better  class  of  music  which 
musicians  congratulate  themselves  Americans  are  learning  to 
appreciatively  enjoy.  —  Home  Journal,  New  York. 

There  has  never  been,  in  this  country  at  least,  so  thorough  an 
attempt  to  collate  the  facts  of  programme  music.  ...  As  a 
definite  helper  in  some  cases  and  as  a  refresher  in  others  we 
believe  Mr.  Upton's  book  to  have  a  lasting  value.  .  .  .  The 
book,  in  brief,  shows  enthusiastic  and  honorable  educational 
purpose,  good  taste,  and  sound  scholarship.  —  The  A  merican, 
Philadelphia. 

Upton's  books  should  be  read  and  studied  by  all  who  desire  to 
acquaint  themselves  with  the  facts  and  accomplishments  in  these 
interesting  forms  of  musical  composition.  —  The  Voice,  Neio 
York. 

It  is  written  in  a  style  that  cannot  fail  to  stimulate  the  reader, 
if  also  a  student  of  music,  to  strive  to  find  for  himself  the  under- 
lying meanings  of  the  compositions  of  the  great  composers. 
It  contains,  besides,  a  vast  amount  of  information  about  the 
symphony,  its  evolution  and  structure,  with  sketches  of  the  com- 
posers, and  a  detailed  technical  description  of  a  few  symphonic 
models.  It  meets  a  recognized  want  of  all  concert  goers.  — 
The  Chautauquan. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.,  CHICAGO. 


THE   HUMBLER   POETS.    A  Collec- 
tion  of  Newspaper  and  Periodical  Verse.     1870  to 
1885.     By  SLASON  THOMPSON.    Crown  8vo,  459  pages, 
cloth,  gilt  top.    Price,  $12.00. 

In  half  calf  or  half  morocco,  $4.00. 


The  publishers  have  done  well  in  issuing  this  volume  in  a 
style  of  literary  and  artistic  excellence,  such  as  is  given  to  the 
works  of  the  poets  of  name  and  fame,  because  the  contents  richly 
entitle  it  to  such  distinction.  —  Home  Journal,  Boston. 

The  high  poetic  character  of  these  poems,  as  a  whole,  Is  sur- 
prising. As  a  unit,  the  collection  makes  an  impression  which 
even  a  genius  of  the  highest  order  would  not  be  adequate  to  pro- 
duce. .  .  .  Measured  by  poetic  richness,  variety,  and  merit  of 
the  selections  contained,  the  collection  is  a  rarely  good  one 
flavored  with  the  freshness  and  aroma  of  the  present  time.  — 
Independent,  New  York. 

Mr.  Thompson  winnowed  out  the  chaff  from  the  heap,  and 
has  given  us  the  golden  grain  in  this  volume.  Many  old  news- 
paper favorites  will  be  recognized  in  this  collection,  —  many  of 
those  song-waifs  which  have  been  drifting  up  and  down  the 
newspaper  world  for  years,  and  which  nobody  owns  but  every- 
body loves.  We  are  glad  for  ourselves  that  some  one  has  been 
kind  and  tender-hearted  enough  to  take  in  these  fugitive  chil- 
dren of  the  Muses  and  give  them  a  safe  and  permanent  home. 
The  selection  has  been  made  with  rare  taste  and  discrimination, 
and  the  result  is  a  delightful  volume.  —  Observer,  New  York, 

Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.,  CHICAGO. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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